Precious
by Feral Phoenix
Summary: One by one, she touched each of their lives. One by one, they became a part of hers. One by one, they realized they would do anything to protect her. -oneshot series-
1. Check and Balance

Precious

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Yggdra Union. I only own the desire to explore Yggdra and the other characters a little further through these oneshots. Don't sue or flame, and I won't have to sic my muses on you. Are we all clear…?

**NOTE.** These oneshots may contain hints or implicit mentions of the following pairings: Roswell/Rosary, Russell/Flone, Milanor/Kylier, Gulcasa/Nessiah, and basically almost everybody/Yggdra. If you find one or more of these pairings not to your taste, YOU KNOW WHERE THE BACK BUTTON IS. Nobody's making you read this. Shoo.

---

Milanor knelt down along the scrub lining the canyon, scraping his knees on the stone and stifling a curse, peering down into the darkness and focusing his hearing. So far, it didn't seem like there were any more Imperial troops lying in wait out here. Which was a good thing—they'd been able to handle those mercenaries and that Inzaghi guy, but they'd've been in for it if those Imperial knights had been able to reach them. As it was, Kylier had been there to back him up, but he couldn't always depend on her, and with only six fighters at his back—and one of them hopelessly inexperienced at that—the next fight they got into could very well be their last. Hopefully they'd reach the border into Orlando soon, since that'd mean the Princess' army wouldn't be far away.

So it was important—but annoying—to have to scout around ahead to know if there was anyone in Milanor's way that it'd be better for him to avoid. And tonight it was Milanor's turn.

Fidgeting, the Silver Wolf peeked around once more, decided the coast was clear, and stood up, hissing and stamping his feet. People from other countries generally didn't think it was possible in the south, but the Norn wastelands were bitter cold at night this time of year. Milanor was freezing, and was pretty sure he'd be in danger of losing at _least _his nose if he didn't manage to hightail it back to camp soon. He'd at least be able to retreat into his sleeping bag there, which would be way better.

"This sucks," Milanor told the wind. It didn't reply. Kicking at a rock, the young thief pulled low to the ground and ran back over the hard-packed dirt and stone towards his camp.

Once he found it, though, he ground his heels into the dust and skidded to a halt, straightening up and staring.

His pack of trained, trail-hardened flunkies were sitting in a half-circle around a small fire, plunked in the middle of which was the largest pot in their collective store of battered crockery. Sitting in the center of the half-circle, leaning over the pot and stirring it lightly, was Princess Yggdra.

_The diamond and the glass beads, _Milanor thought wryly as he drew closer. "Hey, what're you doing with…?"

Yggdra beamed up at him. "Everyone is hungry, and we had more than enough supplies for a little stew. I'm sure it'll warm everyone right up!"

The thief sitting next to Yggdra grinned up at Milanor. "You don' gotta worry, Boss. The fire's too small t'be seen outside o' here, an' the wind's blowin' all the smoke to bits before it can rise."

"Well." Milanor raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips, then sat down across from Yggdra. "I guess it's fine, then. It _has _been awhile since we got to eat somethin' warm."

And whatever it was that the Princess was cooking sure did smell good. Milanor considered being surprised that a pampered noble like her could cook, but after seeing how well she fought after only a few days' practice with a sword, he figured that Yggdra was the type that could do anything she set her mind to.

"The chef at the castle taught me to make this," Yggdra explained as she stirred, as if she'd read Milanor's mind—though she didn't look up, concentrating single-mindedly on the task at hand. "My father wasn't sure about my being taught to cook, but the chef said there was no excuse for people not knowing how, just in case they ever needed to." Her smile faded a little. "…I hope he's alright back there."

Milanor scratched his head and made a face. "Well… from my experience, the Imperial commanders—or at least most of 'em anyway—don't bother civilians. I'm sure the guy's fine."

Yggdra nodded. "You're probably right." She raised her head and looked around at the circle of her companions. "It's ready now. May I have bowls for everyone, please?"

There was a great rummaging around in packs, and suddenly Milanor's band was holding seven bowls towards Yggdra with hopeful eyes, so eager to please it almost made Milanor laugh. Kylier had once compared the lot of them to a pack of dogs half in and half out of puppyhood. They were tough when you needed them to be, but otherwise they were just a tangle of big eyes and wagging tails.

Giggling, Yggdra ladled stew into everyone's bowl, passing them out to everyone before filling her own. Milanor leaned back where he sat and ate some of his own, discovering that not only was the stew competent, but very good.

_She sure ain't your average well-to-do, _Milanor thought with a wry smile as he ate. _But then, what kinda ordinary noble snob'd ever be caught dead with the likes of us? Nah, this one's decent. Sure, some of it's having nowhere else to turn, but…_

"There's plenty more if you like it," Yggdra was saying with a wide smile and wider eyes.

Milanor and the others emptied their bowls and held them out to her in one motion. "Don't mind if we do!"

---

"I'm on for the first watch, so all of you go on ahead and get some sleep," Milanor instructed. "We're gonna be up and moving at dawn, 'cause Orlando's not far from here. I'll wake one of you up and we'll take the night in shifts of a coupla hours at a time. Got it?"

"Yes, Boss," the thieves chorused, and then set about undoing their bedrolls in a circle around the fire. Milanor stood and stretched, watching as they curled up and were instantly asleep, and noted that Yggdra was still sitting by the fire, looking up at the night sky.

"It's amazing," she said at length. "I've always lived in the city, and there are always lights on there even at night, so I've never seen the stars this bright before. They're so beautiful."

Milanor glanced up at the sea of black flecked with white and yellow dots, then shrugged. It was nothing new to him; he'd had what townspeople around here politely called a "backwoods upbringing". And, hell, he could count the number of times he'd stayed in those towns for more than two days at a time for the past year on one hand.

More importantly, he had this girl's welfare to consider. He'd taken her as a charge, and maybe other thieves wouldn't care, but he wouldn't have anyone saying he didn't see to all his duties. "Hey, this's no time to be starin' at the sky. You've gotta get your rest, too. I can imagine how you feel, but if you keep up the rate you're goin', you're gonna burn out weeks before we reach Paltina. If you wanna get your Capital back, you've gotta take care of yourself."

"…" Yggdra looked down at her hands, her cheerful façade instantly gone. "…Milanor, how can you say that you…"

"It's different where you lived, but out here everybody's got some kinda sob story," Milanor said simply. He made sure to keep his tone matter-of-fact so she wouldn't think he was telling her this out of bitterness. "All these guys around here… they've lost family, or had family run off on them, just 'cause there's not enough food or money to go around. With everybody who don't live in towns, it's different versions of the same story. I know how it is to lose family, and to want to get even over it. In a place like this, where you've gotta steal or kill just to survive…

"Princess, you're in poor country now. It's not like anythin' you've seen before. Norn ain't got anythin' the higher-ups in Fantasinia want—and I'm not sayin' that's an altogether _bad _thing—but we basically get ignored, even when we _need _things. Now, I'm better than most. Us guys—we steal, but we steal from the other bandits 'round here, or we steal from whatever robber barons are dumb enough to think they're comin' down to tax the towns." Milanor gave Yggdra a feral grin. "Out here, you gotta learn self-control above all else. We'd never've made it this far if we hadn't figured that out. Now, I said I'd take care of you, and I will. I know what I'm talkin' about, so just listen and do what I say for now."

"…Milanor…"

"Hey, what's with the long face?" Milanor crouched down and lightly shook Yggdra's shoulder. "It's only fair. You help us all you can, and we're just returnin' the favor. 'S not like we can pay for the dinner, now can we?"

And at that, Yggdra covered a soft laugh. "Th-that's true. I'm… sorry; I've only been considering myself here…"

"Psh. Yeah, right. You're worried about your people, and you take time offa _that _to worry about me and the guys. You're considerin' yourself _least _and that's why I gotta lecture you. Just lay down and try to get a little sleep, 'kay? We'll meet up with your army tomorrow or the day after. You just gotta hang in there a little longer."

Subdued but still smiling, Yggdra nodded.

"Use my roll like before. I'll just kick the next watch guy outta his."

Very carefully, Yggdra undid the ties that held Milanor's bedroll together, then laid it out in what open space there was between her and the next thief. Next, she reached behind her for her sword and laid it next to the pelt-lined bag, within easy reach. Milanor gave a small, approving nod. If nothing else, Yggdra sure did learn fast. After the way he and the boys had found her, he doubted she'd ever let herself get caught defenseless again.

"Goodnight," Yggdra said a little sheepishly once she'd taken off her little white shoes and navigated the huge mass of her skirts into the bedroll.

"'Night," Milanor replied with an easy grin. "Have some good dreams tonight, 'kay?"

Yggdra gave a small nod and closed her eyes, shifting with a sigh. Within about fifteen minutes, her breathing had evened out and she was dead to the world, murmuring softly in her sleep.

Milanor let out a light snort. Yeah, he'd figured. No matter how she tried to hide it, she was _tired. _He wouldn't have any trouble keeping her there tonight.

"…" Yggdra frowned a little and wiggled down into the warmth of the bedroll, her delicate brows drawing in so that a line formed between them. "…Papa…"

Turning to glance at her, Milanor rested his elbows on his knees and put his chin on the heel of his hand. Such a fragile person, really… she acted strong for everyone else's benefit, but she was definitely still hurting. Well.

"I can't bring him back, kiddo, but I _can _help you however you need," he told her, though he knew she wouldn't hear. "You're givin' us a roof to put over our heads, and that's more than anyone else's ever offered us. …I'll protect you, so just keep smiling. That's all… you really need to do, y'know."

Yggdra turned over again, somehow managing to avoid rolling to either side in the fur-and-fleece bag, still saying something unintelligible. Milanor smiled and shook his head, then looked up at the sky.

Now that he thought about it, maybe the stars _were _kinda pretty, after all.

:owari:


	2. Queen's Champion

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

It was his first social lesson as a knight of the Kingdom, and he never forgot it.

It had been the very peak of summer, and all of Paltina had turned out for the tournament, an annual exhibition of the skills of the realm's finest knights. Durant was young to be competing, but out of his age group, he'd always trained the hardest, been the most disciplined. Hence, his knight-masters had decided that he be allowed to try his mettle a year early.

For a boy of nineteen who had always trained in solitude or in the group drills of his classes, the sheer number of people and the noise they made was bewildering. The stands were filled with chattering, cheering civilians, waving the flags of their fiefdoms as knights walked their horses around the sand pit, strutting and joking and watching the squires running to clear away droppings and set up the lance games.

Up at the northern end of the arena, sitting much higher than the commoners and even the gentry, sat the royal family, the brightly shining king and queen and their little daughter, the twelve-year-old princess. For some reason, the image was particularly striking to Durant then—the king and queen were conversing back and forth, both smiling, looking like any other middle-aged couple relaxing and enjoying the day, and their daughter was tugging on her father's sleeve, pointing down at the knights and waving at them, clearly excited. Durant would later learn that this was Princess Yggdra's first tournament, as well; her parents had wanted to keep her away from even this toned-down version of violence when she was younger.

Because he was young and inexperienced, Durant was allowed to sit out of most of the lance games—he was here, after all, to see and learn and understand how these things were done. He watched with the others who'd chosen to rest and cheered as his masters and older friends chased tiny, light targets with their swords and lances, and were rewarded for their successes by applause and flowers thrown down by the queen's ladies.

Eventually, because the older knights were giving him a good ribbing for standing slack-jawed like some yellow-bellied lackwit instead of going and trying the lance that still smelled like sap, Durant ventured out onto the field himself for the last challenge. To say that he was nervous would have been a gross understatement; inside his gauntlets his hands went cold and sweaty, and all he heard was the pounding of his heart and the roar of the crowd. All the same, he gently coaxed his charger, a sweet black gelding with a blond blaze down his face and flecks of the same color on his hocks, to the line of knights, and waited his turn.

When it came and he urged his mount forward, he was so rushed in getting his lance down that he missed the first target completely, then was shaking so much in fear and humiliation that he missed the second as well. But he claimed the last three, the small ribbon-adorned rings of wood sliding down to the broad base of his lance.

Breathing deeply and trying to still his pounding heart and the slight quiver of his lance as his arm shook, Durant moved his horse at a light walk towards the end of the stands to collect his favors. It wasn't so bad, then, he tried to convince himself. Look here; it was the same as practice, and nervous or not, he'd gotten three. It wasn't so bad, truly.

Still, as the squires slid the rings off his lance and he reached out to catch the three flowers the ladies of status tossed down to him, Durant quaked like a leaf.

Quickly, he glanced around to see what the other knights were doing with their favors. Some were tossing them to pretty girls in the stands (Durant frowned a little at their wantonness; knights were supposed to treat women with _chivalry, _not constantly advertise for a roll in the hay); others were handing them off to squires. Durant put the first two flowers in one of the minute gaps in the leather of his horse's saddle, and was about to slot the third beside them when he saw a poor family sitting in the front of the stands. One of the children, a girl who couldn't even have been six, was looking at him out of incredibly solemn blue eyes; feeling charmed and a little compelled, he gently edged his horse to the crowd and held it out to her. She giggled and clapped and accepted it, showing it off to her parents, who both laughed a little. Feeling foolish but as though he'd done a good thing, Durant returned to the lines of knights beginning to gather before the royal couple.

At first Durant didn't understand quite what they were doing, but a knight near him who he didn't know but obviously knew he was new elbowed him slightly and pointed up to the king and queen unobtrusively.

"It's custom at this time in the tournament for the royal champion to be chosen," he explained in a half-whisper. "Since it's the Princess' first tournament, it seems Their Majesties are letting her pick. It's a ceremonial position, and traditionally whoever's chosen has to fight the real King's Champion. It's an honor, but one I don't envy whoever they choose."

Durant nodded a little and thanked the man, understanding completely. The King's Champion was proud, skilled, and heavy-handed even in practice.

He watched as King Ordene gravely and quietly explained to Princess Yggdra what she was expected to do, and as the young girl nodded solemnly as he finished each sentence. Her mother passed her a length of cloth trimmed with lace and printed in what Durant thought was a floral pattern; he was too far away to accurately see.

Finally, the king gestured out to Durant and the other knights, obviously indicating that she should make her pick. Princess Yggdra looked out at all of them with very young eyes, then shyly pointed and whispered to her father, who smiled and beckoned the herald over, speaking to him for a moment. The herald nodded, then walked over to speak to the marshal, who said something very brief. Now having whatever information it was that he needed, the herald headed back out to where he'd been standing.

"Sir Durant, step forward."

Durant _gawked._

In the next moment, he flinched and realized how rude he must seem, and looked around to the other knights pleadingly. They were all staring at him with upraised, expectant eyebrows.

Durant stared back at them helplessly, then hesitantly nudged his horse forward into an obedient—and altogether too sprightly—walk. Within a few heartbeats, they were standing right at the start of the stands, and Durant was giving the herald that same uncertain stare.

"Offer your lance, Sir Durant," the herald prompted, looking amused. Durant growled a little inwardly, and hefted his weapon, noting that its tip just reached the railing surrounding the royal section.

The king and princess stood, father quietly instructing his daughter all the way. Princess Yggdra very carefully wrapped her length of cloth around Durant's lance tip and tied it, then stepped back. Durant didn't need to be told now; he stepped back and lowered his lance as the simple royal favor slid down to its base. As a squire came running across the packed sand bearing the padded coromanel tip that would be fitted to Durant's lance, he undid its tie and refastened it behind the rounded grip of the weapon, wrapping it tightly just above his hand.

"You and the Champion will make jousting passes at each other until one or the other of you is unhorsed," the squire said in a businesslike manner as he put the padded tip on. "At that time, you will continue the battle afoot, choosing whichever weapons you please. Combat will continue until one of you is knocked down and does not stand by the count of fifteen. Good luck." With his job done, he retreated back to the stands; Durant saw that the fencing had been set out for the joust.

As he walked his horse forward, Durant glanced over his shoulder. The other knights had also taken up positions to watch and were talking and laughing back and forth; the king had taken his seat again, but Princess Yggdra was still standing at the railing, watching curiously and eagerly. When she saw him looking, she waved at him, smiling brightly.

Durant felt his face go scarlet, but hefted his lance in a tiny, shy salute that made her laugh.

_What am I doing? _he wondered desperately, and took his place.

He and the King's Champion saluted each other and readied their lances, then leveled them at each other. At the herald's trumpet fanfare, both their horses thundered forward.

Durant barely had the time to brace himself before the impact, and was left gasping with it, shoved up against the high back of his tilting saddle, his shield side nearly numb with agony and his lance arm aching. Already the Champion was turning back around; Durant kneed his mount back into place, but knew with an awful feeling of dread that he was hopelessly outclassed—there was no way he was going to win this. Over the course of the second charge, he gritted his teeth and tried to slide his lance down under the Champion's shield to try to pop him anyway, only to have the wood break into several pieces. By the time he reached the end of the fence, Durant was reeling in the saddle, listing along his shield, even as squires rushed to replace his lance, even retying the Princess' favor at the base.

Durant shook out his arms and took a deep breath and then his place, and they thundered forward along the third pass.

This time, he felt the flip as the Champion's lance hit home, and only had the time to think a curse before he was airborne, still holding his lance, his shield arm twisting until he heard a crackle and knew that his bones had taken some serious damage. The next second, he twisted so he could take the fall properly and somersaulted along the sand. Dizzy with the pain and helmless—he'd lost it in the drop, he was fairly sure—he carefully removed his shield and shoved his lance tip-first into the sand, shaking it out of his chestnut hair and casting about for the squires with the weapons.

As the Champion started to dismount, Durant made it over to them, and bypassed swords of several sizes, a halberd, an axe, and a morning star for a slim spear. Like all the weapons, its edges were blunted, since this was exhibition combat, but it felt right in his hands, which he shifted along the shaft, trying not to favor his shield arm too obviously as the fencing was carried off and the Champion prowled forward with a mace and chain.

Durant thought a brief prayer, then ran forward.

The King's Champion didn't have the pretty title for nothing. He swept in low, aiming straight for Durant's injured arm, and Durant had to take an ungainly two-step back to avoid having those heavy iron balls wrap around his weapon. As he did so, the Champion rushed in again and dealt him a vicious blow, punching straight past his spear to the belly, sending Durant flat onto his back in the sand.

"Stay down," the Champion advised as the crowd gave a unified gasp of horror and delight. Somewhere distant, the herald began his count.

Durant just lay there gasping, dizzy, unable to do any more than struggle vainly for breath. He was in an unbelievable amount of pain, and to make things worse, the impact of the fall had done the rest of the work on his arm. It wasn't a bad break by any means, but it was definitely broken, and if he moved it at all it would be so much worse. Adrenaline was taking care of it for now, but by the time he got to the healers he'd probably be screaming.

Maybe it was best to just do as the Champion said. There wasn't any hope of victory, not with him like this. He should just spare himself the humiliation, and—

_"Get up!"_

At the desperate cry, Durant and all the spectators turned, wide-eyed. Princess Yggdra was still standing at the rail, and she was clutching it tightly, her deep blue eyes huge with fear and belief.

_"Get up! _You can do it, I _know _you can! _Please…!"_

It was Durant's duty to obey the commands of his sovereign, but it wasn't duty that had him forcing himself back to his feet with a hoarse yell, leveling his spear and running hard for the Champion's turned back. He wouldn't know for a long time what it was, but he did know in that moment that her voice had given him the strength to completely ignore any pain he felt. He would fight. He would win. And he would do it for her.

His first strike caught the Champion in the waist; his second thrust through the man's grip, entangling the weapon enough to pull it from those heavy mailed hands. And as he wouldn't be able to shake it away in time to counter his opponent's next strike, he cast the spear aside entirely and put all the strength he had left into one solid punch that put the Champion on the ground, unconscious.

The next moment everyone was cheering. Durant became aware that he could feel where splintered bone was pushing through his skin under the brace on his arm, but that it didn't seem to hurt. The world went green, then blue, and he dropped hard to his knees, blood running down his arm and staining the sand. The last thing he saw before he passed out was the Princess' face, shining with victory and worry.

---

It was five years and three months to that impossible victory when the princess and her knight stood in the fields on the border of Orlando, facing away from the camp their party had made.

Yggdra's attendants were busying themselves teasing Milanor's thieves into learning how to do laundry correctly, while their rough-natured commander was talking tactics to the only two knights in Durant's cavalry who had survived the Imperial assault. The horses were roaming nearby, content to linger near their humans as they cropped wild grass.

Yggdra herself was staring towards their destination, Embellia—the home of their Undine allies—with very distant eyes. She'd grown, and it wasn't just the years, but the deaths of her parents that had done it, Durant knew. She stood and watched the border with sad, heavy eyes, her father's sword in her hand, and Durant watched her. She was more beautiful than any girl he had ever known, and more unattainable than the moon and stars.

He knew his place. She was his sovereign, and he her subject. It couldn't, wouldn't be, as all his comrades had reminded him uselessly through the years. He knew it. It didn't change how he felt about fighting for her, or winning for her. It was more than a duty, and that would _never _change.

"…Durant…" she said quietly, gravely. "I have a feeling that… the road ahead of us will be a difficult one. I don't know how, or why, but I can't help worrying. There's still so much I don't know."

And it frustrated her, he observed to himself. Princess Yggdra preferred understanding the way things worked, and why.

"It's a lot to ask of you, I know, but there are so few I _can _ask." She sighed unhappily. "And I wish that it weren't so, but… Durant, please, I need you to teach me everything you know. About tactics, about war, about strategy. We cannot afford to lose this battle, and if my people are to believe that we can win, I must fight. I must avenge my parents' deaths myself."

She didn't know what she was asking, but she knew the weight of it. Durant looked at her and knew that whether she still believed herself to be or not, she was an innocent yet, and that his teaching her to kill would destroy that. It would be so hard to take away what was hers by right, but—Durant knew he couldn't send her into the battlefield unknowing, because it would mean her death.

So in response, he bowed to her from the waist. "My lady. You have only to ask; my life and my service are yours. When you need to know about the nuances of battle, I shall instruct you. I am your loyal servant, always."

When he straightened up, he saw that Yggdra was smiling sadly at him.

"…Yes, that's true," she said very softly, and before he could stop her with reminders of propriety, she reached towards him and laid her hand to the faded, bloodstained circle of linen, satin, and lace tied around his upper arm, then her head to his breastplate. "That's one thing that I doubt will ever change."

Durant didn't know what to say, so he just rested a hand on her shoulder and closed his eyes, wishing he could forget what he knew and just cherish this moment for what it was.

But because of what he was, he couldn't.

:owari:


	3. Mutual Adoption

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

"Are you sure it's alright?" the Princess was asking a little self-consciously, hesitating in undoing her dress at the waterside. "—To just, like this… I mean…"

"Don't worry about it," one of her blue-haired attendants said with an offhand wave. "You spend way too much time running around making sure everything gets done right—just relax a little and let the _guys _handle it for once. Durant's watching Milatchan; he's not going to let any of those silly thieves destroy the campsite."

"Well, I suppose…" Still, Yggdra continued to fidget and glance behind her to the sheets and Royal banner that had been hung over the clothesline to keep any errant males from sneaking a peek.

Nietzsche, who'd readily flopped into the water long ago, rested her elbows on the raised, stony bank of the hot spring and watched as the Princess' attendants helped her to navigate out of the maze of strictly tightened laces that molded her stiff silken underclothes to her body. She didn't really understand why humans wore so many uncomfortable-looking things, but then, like all Undines, she'd only ever really had to worry about covering up her still-developing breasts. In the proud waterfront cities of Embellia that were only inhabited by women, there wasn't nearly so much worry about propriety as there was out in human society.

Humans were silly in lots of ways. Still, the Queen had always said that it wasn't bad, just different—Undines didn't do things the same way, but they still needed to respect other people's customs.

So even though Nietzsche winced a little for Yggdra's sake as she struggled with her clothes, she didn't say anything, but just watched with the other Undines who'd come with her out of Embellia as the Princess and her attendant joined the rest of them in the water.

Almost instantly, Yggdra sighed and slumped down, letting the water rise to her shoulders as the fine line of tension that had always been present in them vanished. "This feels so much better."

"How did you guys know there'd be a place like this here, Nietchan?" one of the sword maidens asked, finger-combing her hair with wet hands.

"There's a vent in the earth in the ocean near here," one of the other Undines answered. "We're not altogether sure, but we think it doesn't just make the water warm out there, but creates places like this, as well."

"Really? That's interesting."

"Ahh…" Nietzsche flipped over in the water, slapping her tail fin along its surface to scatter splashes at everyone else. "Princess, you've got such a nice figure! Nietzsche's jealous!"

Yggdra went pink and shifted where she sat, drawing her legs up so that her knees were in front of her chest and crossing her arms embarrassedly. "N-not really…"

"But you _do! _You're so pretty. And in all those big dresses, Nietzsche almost wouldn't think…"

"Well, she is a _princess," _the attendant on Yggdra's other side said with a grin. "You know, she has to look like a pure maiden and all… it wouldn't be proper for her to run around in stuff that showed her legs or her chest in public, you know."

"Nietzsche's impressed! It looks like it would be so hard to move in something like that, but the Princess can even fight in it like it's not a problem!"

"Sometimes it _is, _a little, but…" Yggdra hid behind her knees, bright red now.

"It's not the _dresses _that are even the real problem," another of the sword maidens said with a grin. "Yggtan, if we don't get you out of those corsets soon, that nice figure everyone loves is gonna be totally ruined."

"Corset?" Nietzsche repeated, blinking.

"The laced silk Her Highness was wearing," the Undine nearest her explained. "They're supposed to make a person's waist smaller, Nietzsche."

"I got forced into one once," the sword maiden went on. "The next time someone suggested I put it on again, I threatened to stick 'em with my Estoc. They squeeze your ribs so tight you can barely breathe, and on top of that they make your chest look a lot smaller. They're in fashion right now at the Capital, so all the noble ladies wear them, and they wind up not being able to breathe and faint a lot. I like having real live hips and a waist, so I can deal with not being fashionable until the trend dies."

"But if they're not good for humans, then why are they popular? Nietzsche doesn't get it," the little Undine declared with a frown.

"Somebody a long time ago came up with the idea that beauty is pain, and women have been trying to convince men otherwise ever since."

All the sword maidens and the Undines who'd come with Nietzsche laughed at that as Yggdra fidgeted and blushed and Nietzsche blinked at them, confused.

As one of the Undines reached around to her bag of supplies and started digging around in it, Nietzsche shook her head at the adults and turned back to the Princess. Even though she'd gotten all embarrassed when Nietzsche had said it, she really _was _pretty. Although all the recent fighting meant she'd been putting on a bit of muscle, she still had a delicate figure, with a slender waist and soft curves. Even though there was so little time to see to daily care with all the battles and the travel, Yggdra's long hair fell in a silky wheat-blond sheet past her waist, soft and smooth with nary a strand out of place. She'd gotten hurt here and there in battles before, but all of her wounds seemed to be healing without any trace of scars, and her soft-featured face remained unmarked.

And she really _was _pretty well-endowed, even though all the layers she wore did a good job of concealing that fact. Nietzsche didn't entirely understand why it embarrassed the Princess to have that pointed out, but then, there were lots of things she didn't really get about humans yet.

"Here," the Undine said, holding out the soap block and flat pieces of pumice she'd finally found. "It may not be much, but at least we've got this to share."

There was a universal sigh of gratitude at the thought of getting really clean—it was really shocking how dirty you could get just traveling. Nietzsche and most of the Undines with her preferred to swim when they could, but they couldn't always do so, and although they could still move over land easily enough with the powerful muscles in their tails, it kicked up an awful lot of road dust to do that. Adding to that all the sweating you did when you were _constantly _marching almost straight from sunup to sundown and the fact that the Royal Army very rarely stopped at inns… there was a lot of road grime that needed to be washed off, and it was way easier with soap.

Plus, it made your skin feel a lot softer. It was too bad they didn't have any herbs, since putting those in bath water was so good for your complexion. Oh, well.

As the soap changed hands and an animated discussion began over the latest exploits of Milanor's thief flunkies, Yggdra straightened up and began to run water over her long hair, pooling it in both hands and splashing it over her head before it trickled through her fingers.

Nietzsche put both hands under the water's surface behind the Princess' back and splashed up, soaking that long curtain of hair and making Yggdra squeak. "Let Nietzsche do that," she asserted helpfully. "Nietzsche's sister always let Nietzsche do her hair, and Nietzsche thinks it's fun!"

"A-alright…" Yggdra said, sounding hesitant and bewildered. Nietzsche intercepted the soap and lathered her hands with it before giving it back to the rest of the waiting line, sliding lines of suds and bubbles down Yggdra's hair and back.

Nietzsche really _was _jealous. It wasn't really fair that the Princess' hair should be this soft and smooth and shiny. Her sister had always said that her hair would even out when she was older, but… getting "older" seemed to take too much time. Nietzsche wished she could be pretty _now, _instead of having to wait so long.

"Nietzsche… do you mind if I ask you a question?" Yggdra ventured suddenly.

"No," Nietzsche said cheerfully as she kept washing. "What is it, Princess?"

"…Would you mind… telling me a little more about your sister? People have… talked about her, and what happened to her, a lot, but… I want to know more about what kind of person she was…"

Nietzsche almost stopped lathering Yggdra's hair, she was so surprised. Usually, all the people she traveled with would apologize and go quiet whenever Nietzsche's sister got brought up in conversation, even when Nietzsche _wanted _to talk about her. But—maybe this shouldn't be surprising after all. The Princess had just lost her parents, hadn't she? So she probably knew all about wanting to talk but not being able to.

"Nietzsche's sister was…" She paused for a moment to think of how best to say it. "She knew about lots of different things… and she had lots of friends. Nietzsche's family was close to the Queen, so there were lots of people who helped us when we needed it… still, Nietzsche's sister didn't like thinking of them like servants or anything like that. She liked to help them in return for things they did for us.

"Nietzsche's sister was really smart, too! She could even read human writing—Nietzsche can't do that at _all. _And even though she was good at things like that, she was a really fast swimmer too. She learned to fight, but she didn't like to, because she thought it was better to try to talk things out first. Nietzsche thinks you would've liked her, Princess."

"…I'm sorry… if we'd come through earlier, then maybe…" Yggdra said quietly.

"Things like this can't be helped, so it's not a good thing to think about it," Nietzsche told her pragmatically. "Besides… Nietzsche's sister was really happy, back before this. Nietzsche never saw her that happy before. Even though it ended badly… Nietzsche's grateful for that."

"But—the person your sister was in love with was lying to her…" Yggdra sounded confused.

"That may be true, but… Nietzsche's sister always wanted to know about being in love," Nietzsche explained. "She always read lots of love stories, and even though in Nietzsche's country we don't have much to do with men, Nietzsche's sister still had lots of dreams. Even if the human man she loved was only lying to get what he wanted… he made her so happy. And he wasn't mean to her… after he tricked her into stealing the Transmigragem. He just disappeared. See, Princess, if Nietzsche can find the Transmigragem soon, Nietzsche's sister should still be able to come back. And the Queen, and Ishiene and everybody else. They'll all be reborn. Even though sad things have happened, Nietzsche doesn't want to hate anyone because of it. Love shouldn't be a waste, not ever… not if it makes you happy. Don't you think?"

"…" Yggdra looked over her shoulder a little as Nietzsche gathered water in both hands and began to wash the soap out of her hair. "…You may be right about that. You're… wise beyond your years, you know. Even though so many bad things happen, you still have hope, and you're using it to move forward. I really… admire that, Nietzsche. And…

"And, if you want to… until you've found the Transmigragem, I mean… you can think of me as your big sister for a little while."

This time, Nietzsche _did _stop, letting her hands come to rest on Yggdra's back for a few moments. Everyone else was still talking, but she didn't really hear what they were saying. Her chest felt very warm.

"…Nietzsche would like that," she said at last, smiling a little.

And because it was exactly what she would've done to her own sister at a time like this, she slapped her tail through the water to splash Yggdra in the face.

Yggdra squeaked, but her own smile when she turned around and the rush of her hands through the water to splash Nietzsche back said she understood it completely.

:owari:


	4. Hearts Bleed

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

Roswell jolted awake to the canopy of an unfamiliar bed, swaying vision, and terrible pain. He lay still, dizzy and disoriented, until he remembered. Fear clutched his chest tight and sent his heart pounding, and he struggled to stand, or at least sit up.

The hands he hadn't known were around his own until that moment found his shoulders, steadying him even as they prevented him from moving. "Ah… Lord Roswell, you mustn't strain yourself! You're in no condition…"

He knew that voice. Half-delirious and desperate, he turned, settling his fevered gaze on the wide, worried blue eyes of Princess Yggdra. "…I… have to…"

"No… please, calm down. Everything's alright; it's all over."

Roswell shook his head numbly and tried futilely to get her to let go. "My people are… the Black Knight, he's… I have to… hurry…"

"Lord Roswell, _please, _listen… the battle is over. You've been asleep here for the past several days. We drove General Leon away. Please just lie still, and…"

Over? How could the battle be over? He'd been—right there. He'd just turned his men around in order to confront that bastard who called himself a knight, trying to save his poor defenseless townspeople, his lands… he'd been fighting…

Ah. He'd—he'd reached Leon, but by that time most of his guards had already been killed. And then— Roswell frowned; most of his memories from that part on were just an awful blur.

"Lord Roswell, don't you remember…?" Yggdra was saying worriedly but patiently. "You were trying to fight General Leon off, and you were badly hurt. If we hadn't arrived when we did, you might have been killed. While my forces held off the Black Cavalry, I tried to find you help… I was so afraid it was already too late. You were barely conscious at that point, I think, and by the time we'd reached this place, you'd passed out."

"This place…" Roswell looked around, much of his disorientation gone, but still didn't recognize it at all. Where _were _they? His own estates were all decorated in dark colors—blues, violets, blacks. And this didn't seem to be Marvel, either, or any of his villages. This room where he lay was all in pastels, soft delicate blues and greens and white.

"We're at the Esmeralda manor right now," Yggdra told him soothingly. "I didn't know if Lady Rosary would agree to treat you, but it was all I could think of. You may not remember, but bandits attacked Marvel after the town guards were drafted; it was in no state to accept a patient in your condition. Lady Rosary surprised me… I thought she was going to refuse you, but she took one look at your wounds and ordered to have you seen to while she and I rejoined my main force. You've been unconscious for so long… I was so worried about you."

"…" Rosary had…? But that didn't make sense; that didn't make sense at all. She'd hated him for so long; why would she…

More pressing worries pushed the confusion away as Yggdra tried to gently coax him back down to the sheets. "Please, Lord Roswell, you need your rest. You haven't finished recovering…"

Roswell waved away her hands and tried to sit back up. "My people, my home… those men… what did they…?" His villages, his manor, his parents' graves—what would he do if Leon had destroyed them? He was a fool to have ever trusted that man—but he'd just been so _desperate…_ "How many…?"

The Princess frowned a little, clutching at the bodice of her dress with her left hand while her right settled on his arm. "What do you mean, Lord Roswell…?"

Roswell just stared at her pleadingly. "The civilians, my men… how many… how many were…?"

This time, Yggdra seemed to understand. She placed both her hands on his. "Many of your soldiers were…" She looked down. "I'm so sorry. General Leon is powerful, and we just… didn't get there in time… I'm so sorry." She bit her lip for a moment before going on. "There were… a few civilian casualties as well, but… your soldiers protected your people with their lives until we were able to arrive and help out."

Roswell just sat silently for a moment, trying to absorb the blow as his heart contracted painfully with grief. It took too much effort to hold it all in and stay silent, when on the inside, he was screaming.

The next moment, he was again straining to get up. Yggdra held him back, clearly alarmed. "No—Lord Roswell, there's nothing you can—!"

"I have to…" Had to _what? _She was right. But _still—_ "Have to—apologize. I couldn't… I couldn't… I…" Pain knotted in his belly, and then something warm was dripping down onto the clean white sheets from his chest. Then fire seized his lungs and he couldn't _breathe, _and he hunched over coughing into his hand, wondering if he was dying after all.

It was no less than he deserved, really.

"Lord Roswell, _please!" _The Princess' arm was around his shoulders, bracing him. When the spasm eased, Roswell realized that he could taste something metallic and salty. Straightening up, he stared blankly down at the blood that was pooled in his palm.

_I—this is my blood, _he realized faintly, distantly. _I'm still—from the inside. _It was both a sickening and fascinating thought, and his sense of self was scattering further and further from himself as his breathing deepened and shortened.

"Please," Yggdra said softly, and pushed him gently back down into the pillows. "You have to rest. You'll be able to see your people when you're better. Everyone is so worried about you… please, just get better. That's all you can do right now. Please."

Roswell wanted to argue, to try to sit up again, but he was so tired, so drained—physically and mentally and emotionally. All he could do was close his eyes and drift back through the abyss.

---

"Princess, you're not eating much. Is something wrong?"

Yggdra blinked, looking up from her plate to where Milanor and Durant were both watching her with concerned expressions, then shook her head. "Oh… no, not really. I was just… a little worried about Lord Roswell."

They and their soldiers were all crowded into the main hall with Rosary, her troops, and her servants. The table was laid out lavishly, as though Rosary was purposely stressing her victory over the secret betrayal and defeat she'd suffered while out fighting Leon. The young witch was down at the other end of the table, joking with Nietzsche and a few of Milanor's thief flunkies, defiant in the face of loss. Apparently, they were reliving part of the battle for the Black Rose Domain, and Rosary was in her element, boasting back and forth as the soldiers around her teased. Yggdra was sitting a short distance away from the celebrating soldiers, and apparently because they felt they had to keep an eye on her, Milanor and Durant had stayed with her rather than join the party.

"He isn't sickening again, is he?" Durant asked gravely, starting to frown.

Yggdra looked down at her plate again, poking at her half-eaten dinner. "If he is, it's only out of desperation. He took it so hard… I wasn't even able to tell him that his Ankh was stolen." She fidgeted a little, guilty-faced.

"Huh." Milanor shrugged and eased back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. "Y'know, it was pretty surprisin'—the way Roswell acted back there, I mean. He seems like he don't care about nothin', but then as soon as he hears Leon's turned traitor…" He held out his hands in front of him, keeping his left still and moving his right forward, brushing them together briefly in pantomime of someone moving quickly.

Durant gave Milanor a smile that was only fractionally condescending. "Lord Roswell is much like Lady Rosary… at least in that they both put up a façade for the public to protect themselves. For Lady Rosary, that façade is pride… for Lord Roswell, it's as much status as that. But for all their faults, their hearts are in the right place. The fact that they and their forces were both willing to do the right thing when it came down to it should be proof of that."

"I guess." Milanor just shrugged.

"But it worries me," Yggdra insisted. "Lord Roswell just seemed so pained… I'm afraid he's blaming himself for the whole affair. The weight of all the lives lost is just too much for one man to bear alone…"

"It's as much Rosary's fault as his, but y'know, a little guilt'll go a long way towards makin' sure this kinda thing don't happen again," Milanor pointed out. "Mages. They're all insane, I swear."

"Princess… you mustn't be too concerned. After all, we scored a tremendous victory against the Empire in driving General Leon away from Verlaine," Durant reminded her. "So many more would have died if it had not been for our actions. And besides… you're to be congratulated for getting Lady Rosary to agree to defend Lord Roswell's land."

"You may be right, but…" Yggdra shook her head. "I can't help but feel as though something is amiss. I'm sorry. I… I have to go check on Lord Roswell again. If nothing's wrong, I'll come right back down, I promise, but… please apologize to Lady Rosary for me." Before either Milanor or Durant could do more than stare, she pushed her chair back and slipped down the darkened halls of the White Rose manor.

The further Yggdra got from the cheerful banter of the victory feast, the stronger and more insistent the feeling that something was very, very wrong. Passing by a row of candleholders on a table that waited for the late-night hours when people would need them to navigate the halls to their rooms, Yggdra picked one up by impulse and lit it, lifting it high to illuminate the dark corridors as she headed up one flight of stairs, then another while searching for Roswell's borrowed rooms.

As soon as she got close, she heard it—the soft sound of jagged breathing, as though someone was crying. It was such a sad and pitiful sound… listening to it made Yggdra's heart ache. Holding her candle higher, she headed for the door she thought was Roswell's in careful steps.

"Lord Roswell…?" she ventured as she pushed it open. Then, as the candlelight swept across the darkness of the room, she froze, horror and pain knotting at her chest.

Roswell was sprawled in the middle of the floor, as though he'd tried to walk when he'd awakened but hadn't been able to make it very far. He'd stopped what he was doing and looked up when he'd heard Yggdra's voice, and his beautiful turquoise eyes were deadened with trauma and self-hatred, his face pale and tearstained. The dark spots on his bandages were freshly soaked, and his hands were frozen and tense, the fingers of his left clutched tightly around the knife, his right clenched into a fist.

The jagged slashes against his pain-whitened skin, and the dark, dark blood that ran down from them, dripping against the floor.

With an inarticulate cry of distress, Yggdra flew across the room, kneeling before him and only setting the candle down as an afterthought, reaching out to touch his shoulders and then his face, gently pushing his hair out of his eyes. She looked down at his maimed arm, then tried to pry the knife from his fingers. He tightened his grip stubbornly, but the blood loss and the long weakness of his injuries made it easy for her to take it from him and cast it aside.

"Roswell, _why?" _she asked softly, pleadingly, making him look at her. "You're already so hurt… your poor arm! Why are you…? You can't…"

"Just leave me be." His voice was quiet, tired, broken. "I don't… deserve your worry. All of this is just my own…"

_"No!" _Feeling tears start in her eyes, Yggdra grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "This was _not _your fault! The Empire was behind all of this—for Leon to have done so much to you, and for you to be tearing yourself apart with blame… that's exactly what they want! Roswell, _please, _don't do this…"

His stare was half pathetic and half defiant as his own eyes filled with tears, as they began to spill over. "I got my people involved in my own petty rivalry with Rosary," he said in a harsh, bitter whisper. "I trusted someone I shouldn't have, because I was so desperate for revenge it blinded me. And because I was such an _idiot, _my people…" His voice broke. "Their lives are my responsibility, Princess. You're a leader. You should know. I got them killed."

"You nearly got _yourself _killed trying to save them," Yggdra reminded him, giving him another gentle shake. "Roswell, don't you know how much that means?"

"I was reckless, and I hurt my own people—I don't deserve to have survived. I'm a danger to the ones I care for." He gave a sad, self-mocking little laugh that sounded like a sob. "Those who lived will likely never forgive me—and I know they're right not to do so."

"…Oh, Roswell…" Impulsively, Yggdra reached out and held him close. "How can you value yourself so little? Your people are worried sick about you. Those who didn't see what happened have all heard about it by now… the way you rushed in to save them, without a single thought to your own safety or how many wounds you took. They know you would have died for them in an instant. _They _see you for what you are—their hero, their protector. The people whose lives were lost wouldn't want you to blame yourself. I'm sure they knew that you were doing your best."

"I'm a coward, and a fool," he went on into her shoulder. "I let greed and pride get the better of me, and I let them down. I—"

"You're brave, you're selfless, and you care too much," Yggdra interrupted, holding him a little tighter. He was shaking slightly—from the cold of the approaching night or the pain and exhaustion he was in or from silent tears, she didn't know. "And you're only human, Roswell. None of us is perfect. What matters is that you realize you made a foolish decision, and that you tried to make it right. No one is blaming you for this but you." Very gently, knowing that he was still in a delicate state, she shifted his weight so that she could get at his arm and hold it up, pressing her fingers down below where the cuts started to try to stop the bleeding. He made a soft pained sound and shuddered, and she winced sympathetically, stroking his hair. "I know it hurts. I'm so sorry. But we have to wait until you're well enough to stand before we can get this seen to properly."

"…" Roswell lay silently against her chest, his eyes half closed. "…why are you doing this?"

"Because I saw you as well as your people did," Yggdra told him softly. "I saw you face down Leon and his men all by yourself, without even a hope of winning. I saw you fight your hardest, no matter how badly he hurt you, until you just couldn't anymore. That takes so much strength—being able to fight for your people like that. That's not just responsibility, Roswell, that's something stronger… you love them enough to go on as though your life doesn't mean anything to you as long as they make it through safely." She watched as he looked up at her, and held his gaze, even though it hurt so much to see the despair in his eyes. "By the time we reached you… I thought for a moment you were already gone, and I was so afraid. I don't want to watch anyone I care about die ever again, Roswell. So please… don't do this. If only for me, please…"

"…………" Roswell closed his eyes and sighed.

"You want your people to know you're sorry, don't you?" Yggdra pressed. "Then just hold on so that you can tell them yourself! Roswell, I know you're hurting. I _know _that the way you look on the outside must not even compare to how badly your heart is bleeding on the inside. But I know how strong you are. So…"

"…Princess."

Yggdra blushed a little and looked down at him. "Y-yes?"

Roswell was smiling a little—his face was tired and gray, but he was smiling. "I can't feel my fingers, Princess. If you could…"

Yggdra's face flamed, and she loosened her hold on his arm, only supporting it and keeping it in the air while he flexed his hand softly closed, then open again. "I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes, but the ghost of a smile still lingered on his face. "You don't have to apologize to someone like me. I know… you're only trying to help."

"Now if you'd just understand the same about yourself…" she chided gently. "Come on, Lord Roswell… let's find something to wrap your arm up in. I won't leave your side tonight… you need someone with you, and I'm not about to let you hurt yourself again."

"…Now, why the formality all of a sudden?" Roswell's voice was soft and still cracked, but there was the slightest hint of humor in it.

"I-I'm sorry?" Yggdra looked down at him, puzzled.

"You were addressing me only by name just a moment ago," he reminded her. And when she went bright red and began to apologize, he cut her off. "I liked that."

And while Yggdra just sat still and blushed, Roswell painstakingly pulled himself into a sitting position, gently touched her face, and then leaned in and kissed her.

Yggdra was too shocked even to close her eyes, the tumble of confused thoughts too much for her to even begin to decipher. All she knew was that the press of his lips to hers was delicate, and that he tasted like blood and tears and deep sadness. His hair fell into her face, silky and damp at the tips and lightly tickling her skin. Roswell made no move to deepen the kiss, only remaining where he was for a handful of heartbeats before pulling away.

"Thank you," he said softly, and leaned his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. This time, Yggdra closed hers as well, trying to remember how to breathe. Roswell's lips were very soft, and she was fairly sure she'd remember exactly how they had felt for a very, very long time.

He was still bleeding, and he was definitely shivering now from all the skin his bandages left exposed to the chilly night air, and he was still distraught and it would take more than this to make him stop hating himself. But even though she _knew _all that and the fact that she would have to take care of him soon… Yggdra decided that she wanted to stay with Roswell like this for just a little bit longer.

:owari:


	5. Twisted Affections

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

It was very, very early in the morning—so early that the first pale rays of dawn were barely beginning to creep over the caps of the Lenessey mountain range. All of Verlaine was still covered in the remnants of a loose mist—it looked mysterious and romantic, as though air spirits had gone dancing over the lakes over the past night. The late summer air was crisp without being too chilly, as it would be when autumn rolled around.

There'd been warm food before they'd set out only half an hour or so ago, a lovely breakfast spread and bittersweet coffee. The servants had smiled worriedly and wished them all the best, swearing that they would take care of the manor until the safe return of their masters.

It was a wonderful day for a hike, and if they kept up this pace, the Royal Army would probably make it to the mountains before noon arrived and it would get too hot. Once they were on the trail, it would be a week or so until they reached the northern districts of Paltina, the Kingdom's capital.

Rosary was really looking forward to it. A little walking didn't bother her—she made sure to keep in shape, if only so that she wouldn't lose her figure—and at the moment, she felt as though she could accomplish anything. (It didn't hurt that if she did get tired, she had a convenient broomstick she could sit on for a little while. It wasn't cheating, or at least she didn't want to look at it that way—if the others had wanted the convenience of being able to hover, then they should've put some years into magic, too.)

To be honest, the past year or so in Verlaine had been _boring. _She wasn't Roswell—she just didn't find endless days of research and practice to be very much fun. Rosary preferred human company and challenges to solve, and maybe it was shallow of her to consider the impending war to be adding some flavor to things, but it was the truth. There was also the matter of getting those Ankhs back—she'd been _manipulated, _and that was _annoying. _Besides, the extra power boost had felt too _good _for her to not want to keep it.

This whole affair was _interesting, _and it promised to be a good way to test her skills. Back when she'd joined that Princess Yggdra on the battlefield and helped the Royal Army beat the Imperial knights back, it had felt a lot better than she'd expected—there was a vindictiveness and an exhilaration to fighting for a cause she knew was worthy. Really, what more could a witch who'd honed her battle magic ask for?

So while Milanor whined about the height of the mountains up ahead and Durant and the Princess talked strategy up ahead, Rosary let her lips bow up and took a deep breath of the morning air, thoroughly satisfied with herself.

—Not as though there weren't still things to worry about, she remembered with a sigh and a roll of her eyes as she heard the labored breathing from behind her.

The Royal Army hadn't been able to wait any longer, and Roswell had refused to be left behind, although he still had a good month or so before he was fully over his wounds. That was the gist of it. Rosary spared him a dismissive glance—he was already struggling, in visible distress, with his attendants hovering worriedly around him. The man was an idiot, and unfortunately for all of them, he was also preternaturally stubborn. Admittedly, his magic was nothing to sneeze at, but if the fool tried to fight in this condition, he'd just get himself killed. And he was going to slow them down.

Stupid people. There was no escaping them.

As Rosary shook her head over Roswell, Yggdra glanced over her shoulder and noticed the state he was in. Her big blue eyes went even wider with worry, and she turned around, jogging back past Rosary to fuss. Turning a little herself, Rosary watched them with an amused smile: Ignoring Roswell's weak protests and attempts to fend her off, Yggdra felt at his forehead and examined his face, then set about giving him a well-deserved scolding.

Silly, and a little pathetic. And downright cute, come to think of it. Rosary knew that the Princess was seventeen—making her two years the girl's senior—but at times she came off as much, much younger. It was in the way she ran around trying to play mother hen to her entire army, and the way they invariably shook their heads and went along (with an eyeroll and a "Yes, milady mother" the strongest protest, and usually only given by Milanor). From the looks of things, Yggdra was in the process of taking Roswell and Rosary herself into the fold.

If there was one thing Rosary was sure of, it was that she wouldn't be causing Yggdra much worry. She had more sense in her little finger than all the men with them combined—and while Nietzsche had the kind of practicality only young children seemed to possess, she was just a kid, and would wind up in her own share of scrapes along the way.

So, if she was the only one who wouldn't be giving Yggdra serious grief… Rosary smiled a little. She'd flippantly promised she'd behave when she'd decided to come along with the Royal Army, but maybe it was time to start testing the limits of her word.

So when Yggdra began to head forward again, Rosary slowed her pace to drift alongside her new commander.

"Roswell's being stupid again, I take it?"

Yggdra sighed and fidgeted uncomfortably. "He's… just still suffering so much from those wounds… I really would feel better if we could stop somewhere; give him some extra time to rest. When we reach the Capital, the situation will likely be very dangerous… and yet, I can't tell Roswell to stay behind knowing that we're going to need his power in battle there."

"Well, he's kind of always been like that. You worry for a while, and then it just gets to be a real pain in the ass, if you know what I mean." Rosary elegantly tossed her hair, laughing derisively.

"But—you two are related; should you really be saying things like that?" Yggdra asked, clearly even more uncomfortable than before.

"He's my cousin, two or three times removed," Rosary reminded her. "And that doesn't make him any less of a pain. So, to change the subject—how have you been holding up lately?"

"Oh—I…"

"You _have _got a lot of things to worry about, I'll admit, but still, it can't be any kind of hardship being surrounded by good-looking men who'll happily jump to your command."

"Um… I-I'm sorry, Lady Rosary, I'm not sure what you…"

"Oh, come _on, _I'm sure you know _exactly _what I." Grinning, Rosary lightly nudged the Princess in the ribs. "That Milanor sure is determined to get you back in your position."

Yggdra laughed uncertainly. "…Oh… a-actually, I'm fairly sure he's just eager to claim his reward for helping me. W-we did… make a bargain for his assistance, after all."

_"Re-e-e-e-e-eally." _Rosary raised her eyebrows as though she was entirely unconvinced, then shrugged. "Durant, then. He's _very _devoted to you, isn't he? Almost _suspiciously _so."

"W-well…" Yggdra was slowly starting to turn red now; her cheeks were already bright pink. "E-eventually, I-I _will _be his sovereign, so… Durant is very duty-minded, and he…"

"Roswell, then?" Yggdra went bright scarlet and opened her mouth, but Rosary went right on. "Even if he _does _drive me crazy, I'd have to be blind or have no hormones at all to not notice that the guy is _damn _cute. And my vision and all other facilities work perfectly well. Besides, he actually _listens _to you… if only a little. And that's usually a superhuman feat, there."

"Lady Rosary! This is—it's not—this isn't _appropriate, _and—!" Yggdra whisper-shouted, blushing straight up to her ears.

_Well, well. _"And why not? Girls of our age are supposed to discuss men's assets. Is it the status difference? I _do _suppose that the head of a noble house isn't close at all to the heir presumptive of a powerful kingdom, but…"

_"No! _That's not it at _all!"_

"The age difference, then? He's just four years older than you, silly," Rosary teased, grinning broadly. "For _any _members of nobility in this world, that's nothing. Just think about your parents' marriage, or your grandparents'. It's not uncommon for young ladies of status to tie the knot with people ten or even fifteen years older than themselves. Considering that…"

"Roswell is my _friend! _So are Durant, and Milanor—it's just not _right _to think of them that way—and besides, I've so many other things to worry about, instead of just…! It's not as though I don't notice that Roswell is, is… or that… oh!" Flustered, Yggdra hid her face in her hands.

_…Did I go too far…? _Laughing, Rosary patted Yggdra's shoulder. "Aww, don't get so worked up about it. I'm just teasing you, that's all."

_"Teasing…?" _Yggdra repeated, giving Rosary an angry disbelieving stare.

"Yeah. I just wanted to pick on you a little bit, see if I could get a rise out of you. Don't take it personally, Princess. You're just cute when you're all worked up like that." As Yggdra continued to stare at Rosary as if she'd just turned someone into a frog, Rosary poked her in the cheek. "You're too uptight—you need to relax a little; worry too much and you're going to get gray hairs. Learn to joke around some!"

"L-Lady Rosary…" Yggdra still had that look of utter mortification on her face.

"And, look, if you _like _Roswell—or any of the others—it's no big deal, and certainly nothing to fret over. You'll give yourself away if you get all red and mad about it."

_"Stop _it!" With an angry squeal, Yggdra buried her face in her hands again.

"Ahahahaha… sorry, sorry. I can't help it."

"Well, _learn _how!"

"Don't get mad." Apparently, she'd hit a nerve. Who knew? Maybe the little Princess really _did_ have a crush here. "And drop the 'Lady'. It makes me feel all stuffy, especially when you're calling Roswell without the fancy title. I'm not really one for all the formality."

Yggdra was silent—the kind of silence that was very loud and heavy, and had sharp edges to it.

"Tell you what… I'll make it up to you. You _are _still worried Roswell's going to wear himself out, right? So I'll let him ride pillion for a little while." Taking out her broomstick out, Rosary patted it to explain. "He's a moron and I can't stand him, but I'll suffer a little while for you."

"A-alright… um. Th-thank you, Lady Ro—I mean, Rosary." Yggdra still seemed flustered and confused, but she dipped Rosary a little bow before running back ahead to walk with Durant and Milanor.

Cute, heck. Princess or not, overly polite or not, she was _adorable._

And if Rosary didn't make good on her offer, she'd probably get angry again. While she wouldn't mind seeing that, it would mean that everyone else would probably get mad at her, too, and hiking with a host of angry companions was no fun. With a long-suffering sigh, Rosary leveled her broomstick and sat, waiting for Roswell and his attendants to catch up.

It took them a while, but they did. Roswell was still in bad shape—he was pale although his face had taken on that clammy sheen out of the effort of pushing forward. He was even panting now, and his eyes were half-closed and hazy.

Already annoyed, Rosary put her free hand on her hip. "Hey. Stupid distant cousin."

Roswell raised his head and gave her a _look. _"What is it, Rosary." He was tired enough that it was a flat statement, rather than a question.

"Sit. You're done walking for the moment—on the authority of our favorite princess. I'm to give you a ride for a while, so you won't fall flat on your face before we even hit the mountain."

"How very courteous of the two of you." Still, Roswell sat without any argument, folding his legs to one side and clutching the haft of the broomstick with both hands.

"You're going to have to hold on to _me, _or else you're going to fall off, stupid," Rosary pointed out, glaring at him over her shoulder.

"…" Roswell glared back, and set a hand on her shoulder, his touch firm but not too heavy.

_Smart man. _If he'd tried to put an arm around her waist as she'd been expecting, she would've scolded him, and considered taking the opportunity to hit him upside the head.

"So what did you do?" Roswell asked at length.

"What?"

"You wouldn't offer this out of the kindness of your heart, particularly not the way you're acting… and I doubt the Princess would give such an order. Meaning that you did something, and you're trying to use this to get out of it."

Rosary just laughed. "Our new commander sure is a cute one…"

"…You're despicable."

"Thanks, Roswell. I love you, too."

:owari:


	6. Sunglass Philosophy

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

Yggdra looked around the Imperial sentry post, feeling as dizzy as a child lost in the marketplace. The skirmish had ended quickly; all the fear of being discovered after everything they'd done had evaporated into heady relief when her men had slain the wayward messengers who'd come upon them. After all the horror at having been discovered by two Imperial commanders and barely defeating them due to the help of the native people, taking this post shouldn't have gotten her so nervy, but she'd been badly frightened nonetheless at the thought everything might have been for naught. As it was, her people were already swarming all over the post, taking what supplies they could while others rested, their wounds being dressed.

She'd given the order that they would take a rest for a while, knowing that their wounded couldn't take pressing on just yet—and that neither could she. And yet the impasse, where no one would allow her to help or do anything but stand still, was somehow worse than moving forward.

Aimless and distressed, Yggdra paced back and forth.

Durant was happily surveying what the troops had brought in, approving and vetoing food and spare armor for addition to what they were already bringing with them for the assault on the capital. Milanor, brimming with glee and anticipation at glimpsing the Royal castle within his grasp, kidded with his flunkies, while Rosary and Nietzsche disparaged him from a distance.

Mistel, along with Yggdra's bodyguards, was at the mouth of the trail ahead, surveying the wheat fields that bordered Framm, the granary that made up the northeastern district of Paltina. She and Durant had observed that while some of the fields had been harvested, much of the grain had been left to continue its growth, and apparently she was thinking up a few plans of attack that would utilize that fact.

Yggdra glanced around the edges of the worn path, then spotted Roswell sitting against the sharp slope of the mountain and hurried over to him.

Here was one of her most pressing reasons for stopping to rest. Roswell was so ashen his skin seemed gray, his lips white. He was obviously breathing with difficulty, his chest heaving, and a fine layer of perspiration covered his face, making stray strands of his hair stick to his cheeks. And even now, burgundy was starting to seep through the fabric of his robes at his chest and along his side.

Yggdra knelt down beside him, clutching her skirts worriedly, and it was a moment before Roswell was able to turn towards her, his gaze hazed with pain and exhaustion. Still, when he saw her worried expression, he managed something that looked like it was supposed to be a smile.

"I'll be fine… the air's just a little thinner… up here…"

Yggdra bit her lip hard and rested her hand on his shoulder, trying desperately to keep from bursting into tears on the spot. Most of Roswell's wounds were healing very cleanly, but those two—the most severe—had broken open again from the exertion of the climb and the string of vicious battles they'd had to fight to get this far. Even getting back down the mountain would likely be a struggle for him—how would he possibly be able to handle all the fighting they'd have to do once they entered the city? His health was in jeopardy; it _terrified _Yggdra. If she pushed him much harder, he would start coughing up blood again, and then he would be able to go no farther. The Royal Army would have to leave him behind, or he would die.

But they already had so _few…_

Gritting his teeth against the pain of movement, Roswell reached up and gently touched Yggdra's cheek, wiping away the hot tears that were just starting to spill.

"Don't cry for me, Princess," he said very gently, his lovely aquamarine eyes soft with reassurance. "I'll be alright. We'll all be alright."

Yggdra strained to hold back the sob, clenched her hands in her lap to keep from flinging her arms around Roswell and crying in earnest. She'd only hurt him worse by doing so, and she'd probably frighten her men by breaking down so openly.

How had her father ever done this? She didn't know if she could stand this.

"Princess?" She looked up, blinking back tears, to see that one of Roswell's attendants had joined them. The necromancer was holding a kit of medical supplies under his arm, staring at the two of them with a bemused expression. "We'll take care of milord, don't you fret. Lord Roswell, it's time to change your dressings."

Roswell sighed, then pulled himself up against the rock face, wincing as the motion strained the muscles of his wounded side. When Yggdra stood, wanting to help but not knowing what she should do, he reached out to pat her shoulder, then the two of them turned towards the tent where the other injured soldiers were being seen to.

"You might want to try this," said a helpful voice from behind Yggdra, making all three of them jump. "The cleric in our town puts a great deal of power into it; everyone I know swears by it. With this, you'll surely heal much faster."

Mistel had apparently finished her surveillance—she'd snuck up on them quietly and quite cheerfully, and while Yggdra stood staring, she produced a shallow stone jar from the folds of her shawl and held it out towards Roswell, who accepted it with another wince.

"Thank you."

Mistel smiled broadly. "Don't worry about it. Now—go on off and get those bandages changed; I'll look after the Princess." With that, she laid a gentle hand on Yggdra's shoulder and steered her off towards a more secluded part of the trail.

Not knowing exactly what to expect, Yggdra followed along. While it was true that the mountain woman had saved her army from utter disaster over the trek towards this place, she didn't know Mistel very well yet.

Or, more properly, she just didn't remember very much about her. Mistel's grandfather Bly _had _been a friend of her father, and Yggdra knew she'd met Mistel once or twice when she was very small. But the memories were hazy, and the only impression Yggdra was left with was a sisterly figure she'd greatly admired. That old adoration had taken on a whole new shine now that she'd seen Mistel had a better head for battle even than Durant, but based on only a few days' acquaintance, Yggdra still wasn't entirely sure what Mistel might want.

The two of them finally stopped next to a nearly vertical incline, bordering on the outlook where Mistel had been appraising Framm. Mistel turned towards Yggdra, looked down at her appraisingly, then gently pushed her into a sitting position. "Just relax a moment. Head on your knees, and take deep breaths. Poor thing—you're stressing yourself into a dither."

Yggdra did as she was bade, trembled a little, and let a few more of those tears of worry leak into her skirts, where no one would notice them.

There was a shift of gravel as Mistel sat next to her, and then the woman's warm hand on her back, stroking her long hair soothingly.

"You have so much to worry about lately—you're letting it get away with you. Don't think I haven't heard the way that Milanor boy keeps asking you why you seem so down, when we're so close to your home."

Yggdra sat up and wiped her face. "I just—I'm happy that we're here, I _am, _but… at the same time, it terrifies me… there are so many of them, and so few of us… I could lose them, any of them, and I'm so afraid thinking that. And…" She hung her head, clutched her skirts. "I'm… a little bit scared of what we might find there, too…"

Mistel rubbed Yggdra's shoulder and made soothing noises while the princess struggled to hold back tears.

"Roswell's already in such bad shape—and I worry about them all; Milanor and Rosary might forget themselves and take needless risks, and Nietzsche… she's so _young, _maybe Durant was right and I was wrong about wanting to take her along, and…"

Mistel kept patting, although she assumed a thoughtful little frown as she propped her elbow on her knees and her face on the heel of her hand. "Princess… all I can think that might help is a bit of advice my grandfather gave His late Majesty once. Would you like to hear it?"

Scrubbing her face again and sniffling a little, Yggdra nodded. "Yes… very much, please."

"You may have noticed that even though many of the soldiers are excited, Princess, everyone is still on edge—no matter how close we are to our destination. And that's because _you're _on edge, dear. It's a worrisome thing for you to have to live with, but the fact is that you _are _our leader. The men all look to you, take their cues from you, and by being openly worried, you distress them, too.

"And seeing them scurrying about with nerves worries you all over again, too. But there's something you can do to help them, make them feel better about their chances—and I think it's well within your power."

"What is it?" Yggdra asked, blinking.

In response, Mistel smiled, displaying the light dimple in her right cheek as she reached out to poke Yggdra's.

"Just smile for them," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"…Smile…?"

"It can't be easy for you to bear, but right now all these people are looking at you to be their strength. Even if you can't stop worrying deep down inside, you have to try to act the part. If they believe in you and believe in their chances, they'll do you proud. I know how afraid you are, and I know what it is to just want to break down, give in. And after the battle, you can do that—you can let yourself think about all the times things _almost _went wrong, and the risks you ran. No one is going to mind if you're so relieved you cry. But right now, you need to show your people that you have hope."

"…_My… _people…" Yggdra repeated, glancing back towards the bustling camp.

"That's right," Mistel told her. "Yours. These people love you. They'll do anything for you—just as long as you can show them how to be brave."

Yggdra hugged her knees to her chest and sat very still, turning it over in her mind.

"You know the saying that either you're smiling or you're crying?" Mistel asked, still smiling at the younger girl. "It's not as simplistic as it sounds, and if you think about it, it's really very true. I've always considered it my philosophy to live by."

Taking a deep breath, Yggdra lowered her eyes. When she looked back up, she had a shaky smile of her own on her face.

"There, that's more like it." Mistel cupped the princess' face in her hands. "That's the face everyone here will do anything to protect. Hey—if you need anything else, don't hesitate to ask, alright? I _do _include myself in that 'everyone'."

Yggdra stood, smoothing out her skirts and wiping her face again. She didn't know if she was strong enough to keep up a façade for that long, but Mistel probably knew what she was talking about. And besides—if it was true that everyone here looked to her that much, she wanted to be stronger. She wanted to be _that _kind of girl, the kind no one doubted as a leader, the kind who reassured others instead of constantly being reassured herself. She wanted to take care of people, and she wanted justice to be done—no matter how conceited that thought might be.

"Actually, there _is _something…" she said slowly.

Mistel stood and straightened her shawl, folding her arms behind her back. "What is it?"

"You've been looking at the path down to Framm for quite a while. Do you have any ideas of how we should proceed?"

Mistel smiled, but just pointed. "As things are, if we head down during daylight, we'll likely be spotted by the enemy right off. We should wait until just before dawn, then head down—we'll hit the wheat cover as soon as the sun comes up. That way, we'll be able to take any enemies stationed there by surprise. The hike down from here is quick and easy; with the hours of rest until then, even Roswell should be able to manage it in his condition."

Yggdra nodded, impressed. Mistel didn't call herself a tactician for nothing—Yggdra or Milanor would probably have just gone straight down and attracted the Imperial Army's attention, and maybe even Durant wouldn't have thought of this. As Mistel said, maybe they _did _have a chance after all.

"Please tell everyone what we're going to do… I'm going to try to compose myself a little, and then I should probably check in with everyone. Especially Roswell. Even though he _should _be able to make the descent, I still want to make sure he's not pushing himself."

"I wouldn't expect any less," Mistel said, flashing her usual sweet smile. Then, to Yggdra's surprise, she bowed from the waist. "Princess, you're going to make an excellent Queen when you ascend the throne."

And before Yggdra could think of anything to say, off she went, still beaming brightly.

:owari:


	7. Together We Ride

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

Yggdra knew she shouldn't be out of bed—the castle healers and doctors had told her more than enough times that people who have been unconscious for several days on end must take care not to strain their health any further—but she just couldn't help herself. Lying in her soft white bed with its gauzy canopy curtains fluttering in the breeze from the open windows, she sometimes felt as though the past month or so had been nothing but a series of bad dreams.

Or, no—not _bad _dreams. Just dreams… some good, like the ones about Milanor and Durant and Nietzsche and Roswell and Rosary and Mistel… some bad, like the ones about her parents dying and her having to fight the Undines of Embellia… and some decidedly strange, like her time with the Imperial Army. Sleepy and disoriented, Yggdra sometimes wondered if any of them _had_ been any more than dreams. So to keep herself awake and to remind herself that it was all real and had really happened, Yggdra paced the room restlessly on feet that were a lot more used to walking, gently stretching muscles that had strengthened and were sore from their overuse and successive disuse.

She had a lot to think about. The others had debriefed her on how they'd fought to get her back, chasing Gulcasa and his men through the fortress of Karona, the sprawling forests of Marduk, and the wastelands of Lost Aries to rescue her. They'd told her of their victories against the mercenary Inzaghi and Leon the Black Knight, reveling in how they'd slain some of their most dangerous foes.

She'd been introduced to all the new faces—Russell the Astral Fencer and his fiancée, the cleric Flone, who had been freed from the Empire and now chose to fight for the Kingdom; Cruz, the hunter who'd fought to free Karona with his men; Pamela, the eccentric little witch girl who loved Undines and had joined them simply to be near Nietzsche; Elena, the very shy and polite assassin who'd betrayed the Empire to see her brother Leon stopped. She wanted to get to know them better, though it still shocked her a little how large her army had grown while she'd been away.

And she had yet to decide what to make of the things she'd seen as an Imperial prisoner. It had been frightening, and uncomfortable, but some things had been different than she had expected.

The look Gulcasa had worn, for instance, when his men had come to tell him that his friend was dead. When he'd fought Yggdra and she'd wounded him, his only reaction had been to lose his temper—but in that moment he'd looked as though someone had ripped his heart out.

And the way his army had come together to support him, to bear him up, until he'd been able to focus on more than just the raw grief—for all the world like a _family. _The same way Yggdra was sure her army would do, if they were to lose one of their own.

The more Yggdra tried not to think of it because it disturbed her, the more stubbornly it stayed on her mind. She wished she could believe that at least that part had been a dream.

Feeling distant from it all but still caught up in it, Yggdra paced back and forth across the carpet, padding nearly silently in her bare feet, the fabric of her lacy beribboned nightgown floating ghostlike about her as she moved. After all the fighting, all the turmoil, it was so hard to believe she was here again, in her own home, safe. It was too surreal, and just wouldn't sink in.

So she paced and thought, and thought and paced, until she grew so dizzy that she had to sit down, sinking against the cushioned window seat, clutching its edges with both hands. She needed to steady herself or she'd fall over, and she needed to remind herself what was real.

"Now, didn't your healers tell you not to push yourself?" a warm, gentle voice teased lightly from the doorway.

Recognizing it, Yggdra glanced up, startled. While she'd been preoccupied with her thoughts, two visitors had made their way to her rooms—Russell, dressed plainly in black breeches and a deep violet shirt and tunic, and Flone, in a white gown with a bright blue vest and paler blue petticoats.

"…Oh… I'm just… finding it a little hard to stay still today," Yggdra replied, taken aback.

Flone crossed the room in brisk steps and gently coaxed Yggdra back to her bed, tucking the sheets around her. "Your body is still a little unstable, and one of the effects of that is that your blood isn't circulating as well. It'll be easier for you to stay warm if you stay in bed for a little while longer, although you _should _do some simple stretches to relieve your muscles every now and again." So saying, she pulled two chairs up to Yggdra's bedside, sitting in one as Russell made his way to the other. "You're a little chilled—I may be able to help with that." And she took one of Yggdra's hands in both of her own, closing her eyes as her palms began to glow. Instantly, sweet warmth was running through Yggdra's veins; she settled gratefully into her pillows with a sigh.

According to Milanor, Flone had stayed behind at Karona while Russell had traveled with the Royal Army, and had only joined up with them again when they'd passed through the castle a second time with Yggdra in tow. It was a little hard for Yggdra to believe, because it was so rare to see Russell and Flone apart—not only were they usually in the same room, but they had a need to be physically close after their forced separation by the Imperial Army. Their love for and devotion to each other was so obvious it almost hurt Yggdra to watch them.

_My parents had that once, _she thought as she watched Russell smile at Flone, watched her smile back. _And—and someday, in the future, I hope I can have something like it. It's rare for people to find true love, but I still wish that eventually…_

"There," Flone told her, beaming, and settled her hand back against the sheets. "Isn't that better, Princess?"

Yggdra smiled back at her and nodded gratefully. "Yes, much… thank you."

"There's no need to thank us," Flone demurred, shaking her head.

"Flone is right—if it weren't for you, we probably wouldn't be here together right now," Russell added, giving Yggdra a grateful look.

"But—_I _didn't do anything," Yggdra protested in confusion. "Milanor and the others helped you—I haven't done you, or them, any good at all… I haven't done _anyone _good in quite a long time."

"You mustn't think things like that, Princess," Flone chided. "Consider it this way—if you hadn't been captured, Milanor and your men would never have traveled through Karona, and Russell would never have been able to lead them to where I was. He could very well have died fighting the Royal Army, if that had happened."

"So even though you probably shouldn't have run off recklessly by yourself, we owe a great deal to you because you did," Russell finished for her, smiling. "Although you didn't intend it, you've happened to do us a great deal of good. So keep your chin up, alright?"

Yggdra blushed, staring down at her hands with a little smile of her own. "Th-thank you. Um… how is everyone else doing? Milanor and the others—how are they settling in?"

Flone giggled; Russell shook his head and gave a soft, low laugh. The sound made Yggdra feel warm all over, and she was struck both by what a lucky girl Flone was and how cruel it had been to separate these two, even if it _had _been a tactical necessity for Gulcasa and the Imperial Army. It might have prevented the need for any loss of life, but Russell and Flone fit together so perfectly that the idea of separating them seemed fundamentally wrong somehow.

"Milanor and his thieves are enjoying their new home, although I can't say Milanor is enjoying having Durant teach him the finer points of etiquette, which Durant insists that he learn if he intends to stay here. Nietzsche likes the fountains, and the fact that there are lots of places to hide from Pamela." Flone giggled again at this, as though it brought to mind a few amusing incidents.

"Lady Rosary is still futilely trying to establish a reign of terror over the castle scholars, while Ms. Mistel enjoys the attentions of the young men and the idol worship of the young women… and has all but paved the practice courts with the skulls of any and all unfortunate enough to suggest she's nearing middle age." Russell shook his head tragically, which seemed to be more of an opinion of people who commented on ladies' ages than on Mistel's sensitivity about hers. "Lord Roswell, meanwhile, is finally getting the bed rest he should've had long ago. I'm sure you'll be relieved to hear that almost all of his wounds from Verlaine and the recapture of Paltina have healed."

Yggdra sighed, pressing both hands to her chest, feeling a weight lift from her mind. "Is that true…? Thank God… I've been so worried…"

Flone nodded. "He's been recovering fairly well on his own; I've been treating the worst of his injuries myself, and he'll be back to normal again in a week's time or less. He's always asking about you—so are the others, even Cruz, Pamela, and Elena. It's definitely going to ease their minds to know you've been up and about, even if you're a little premature about it."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it—just try not to get like this the next time you go out to fight," Flone told her with a gentle but reproachful smile.

"I'll do my best," Yggdra promised, thoroughly chastised.

"Actually…" Russell paused, then looked to Flone, who nodded. "We didn't just come this way to say hello or see how you are. Flone and I have a favor to ask of you."

Yggdra nodded. "If there's anything at all I can do for you, then please…"

Flone frowned. "I hate to tell you this, Your Highness, but… while your army has all the power it needs to push through any obstacle in their way, your medical division is a fair disgrace. Your men know how to put together field dressings, and Roswell's not bad as an herbal healer—though he's only half-educated at best; I'd dearly like to know what interrupted his studies—but that's all you have. Over the course of this war, you've lost soldiers to injuries any _professional _healer could easily have treated, and if you're ever to fight again, that kind of thing can't continue. Life is something that should be cherished and guarded at all costs. So, the next time you leave and you expect battle… I'd like you to take me with you."

Seeing Yggdra's stunned expression, Russell went on for his fiancée. "It may not seem like it, but Flone is one of the most powerful clerics this country has seen for decades. She has a great deal of magical power, and with her faith, she can use it to heal wounds and disease that would otherwise kill those who carry them. She'd be a great help to us all."

Yggdra nodded. "It's… dangerous, though; are you sure you want to risk…?"

Flone shook her head. "At one point or another, I've treated most of the Imperial Army for their own battle wounds and sicknesses," she explained. "Aside from Leon's men, the Empire's soldiers are honorable; they would never consider attacking any healer, let alone one who has helped them in the past. Besides—I doubt that you and the others would ever let them get that far, Princess."

"And maybe it's selfish of us, but both of us would prefer to stay together," Russell continued, putting his arm around Flone's shoulders. "If Flone needs to be protected, I'll do it with my own two hands."

"And if _you _get into trouble, I want to be the one to pull you out of it," Flone said with a smile, turning to her fiancé and putting a hand to his chest.

Yggdra was a little embarrassed by the undertone of trust and intimacy to their words, but more than that, she was honestly astonished. "Amazing," she murmured aloud, without thinking. "It's just… amazing. Most people would want to protect the one they love by keeping him or her as far from danger as possible, but the two of you…"

With his free hand, Russell reached out and gently tousled Yggdra's hair and gave her a patient, almost brotherly look. "I want to spend the rest of my life at Flone's side," he explained. "If I were to shut her out now, when I know she feels as obligated and as caught up in this war as I do, I wouldn't be able to call myself a real man. I trust her, even if I do worry. Besides—I can admit to myself that I'm weak. I don't _want _to be away from her if we have to leave again… not even for a moment."

Flone nodded. "It may seem as though I don't trust you all, insisting to come along and take care of Russell myself the way that I am, but it's _all _of you I want to look after. And I know that all of you, Russell especially, would never let anything happen to me on the field." She covered a giggle. "Besides, it'll be a relief to _everyone _to know you've someone _competent _overseeing your medical care out in the world!"

Yggdra blushed a little and almost apologized for speaking so freely, then silenced herself with the knowledge that what had just passed between them was important. Instead, she folded her hands at her chest and smiled at Russell and Flone, meeting first the fencer's steady gaze, then the cleric's. "If that's the case, I would be flattered to have you both along whenever it is that we have to move out again," she told them. "Truth be told, I _have _worried about how few people we had with healing experience… it will be a blessing for us all to have you accompany us."

Russell and Flone exchanged glances that sparkled with love and relief, then both of them bowed to Yggdra from where they sat. "Thank you," Russell said for the both of them. "I'm sure you understand at least a little what this means to us. You won't regret your decision."

"I'm sure I won't," Yggdra replied, smiling, then had to fight to stifle a yawn.

"You need your rest now," Flone commented, obviously seeing right through her. "Please, stay in bed for the rest of today. The sooner you recover, the sooner the Kingdom can return to normal again… and the less everyone will have to worry for you."

Yggdra nodded, and fought back a second yawn. Flone stood up and put her chair back where she'd found it; Russell followed suit, but set his against the wall, between Yggdra's bedside table and the window seat. It was obvious that he thought others would be here sooner or later, and would want a chair of their own without having to cross the room for one.

Fencer and cleric murmured their goodbyes and headed for the door hand-in-hand; Yggdra gave them a sleepy wave, not trusting her voice. Still, as she resettled herself within the mass of pillows spread across the headboard of her bed, she watched as they left. Both of them nodded to her before walking outside, and Russell gently pulled the door shut. In the peaceful silence of the room, Yggdra clearly heard the click as the latch slid home.

_…It probably is too much to ask, but… I still hope that someday, I'll be able to have something like that myself, _Yggdra thought as she closed her eyes. _If my parents had it, and Russell and Flone have it, then I'm sure it's not as uncommon as people think it is to find someone to love with the whole of your soul… someone you can trust so completely._

Soothed by the idea, Yggdra curled into the warmth of her bed and abandoned the room for lighter dreams.

:owari:


	8. Where the Sky is High

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

It had become habit over the course of the week, and as such, nobody questioned Cruz when he departed from the castle dining hall, retrieved a stick of incense and matches, and left the boundaries of Paltina proper to venture into the outer edge of the forest.

It was a gorgeous day, warm and clear even though generally the mornings were cold this time of year. As he walked, Cruz breathed in the ghost-summer air and stared up into the blue, blue sky, tracing clouds with his apple-green eyes and deciding what they looked like. One was like a castle, another like a bridge, and another like a rabbit. Birds twittered cheerfully through the treetops, weaving little melodies that put a light bounce in Cruz's step.

Yes, sir, today was just one of those days that made you appreciate the fact that you were alive.

Whistling idly to himself, Cruz passed into the circle of the trees. Forests always smelled sweet this time of year as the pines unfurled their needles and the last of the fruit ripened and fell; after all the months he'd spent in a makeshift fortress in the middle of Marduk, Cruz guessed he'd always feel at home in the trees. The dapple of the light through the leaves and branches warmed his heart just as much as fire snapping on the hearth did for other people, and birdsong stirred him the way minstrels' ballads stirred others. He'd missed the stone-and-earth cities of Karona, sure, and you couldn't dismiss the hospitality of the people of Paltina, but this place was dear to him the way others couldn't be.

Cruz headed down the footpath through the trees into a small cleared space further in. It had probably been an actual clearing once, but now the trees grew closely around it, and only a little light spilled onto the weathered lithograph standing within a ring of wildflowers on a pedestal and steps. Cruz slowed his pace respectfully as he neared it, and set his incense in the candleholders. With the silver pitcher next to the lithograph, he filled the white clay saucer, scooped a palmful of soil, and set the tiny tuning fork upright in its bed of flat, smooth stones. He lit a match, set the flame to the incense, and sounded the tuning fork, then knelt and folded his hands.

Bowing his head, Cruz half-closed his eyes and let the peace of the incense seep into his heart. As the tone fell to silence, he began slowly and clearly to pray.

"Alma Terra, matre nos…"

When he was finished, he stood with a satisfied sigh and watched the incense burn out. A week ago, when the Royal Army had first arrived here, he'd heard Durant talking about this little shrine in the woods, and ever since, he'd paid it a visit every day. Even though it wasn't fancy or particularly well-kept, there was just something about this little shrine that got into your heart and endeared to you. Besides—Cruz was here to speak for the souls of his men, and all of them had lived and died by the simple ideals of honor and loyalty. This suited them better than pomp and circumstance, and Cruz was sure they would appreciate his gesture no matter where he prayed.

Another man might have held a great deal of bitterness over the deaths of so many of his comrades. Cruz did not. He'd cared for his men very much; they'd been dear friends to him, a band of blood-sworn brethren fighting the good fight to protect what they loved. He'd grieved for them all, and remembered every one fondly. But being a born and bred citizen of Karona, Cruz was no stranger to the sad realities of war. Hating the enemies he'd fought for the loss of his men—holding a grudge for a long time—would just dishonor them all. It was better to live, to continue fighting for the ideals his friends had all upheld with a clear mind and pure intentions.

When he fought, Cruz knew the ramifications of what he was doing, and accepted the responsibilities. There weren't many soldiers who shared his pragmatism, but though even some of the stauncher soldiers in the Royal Army looked askance at Cruz's laid-back, tranquil acceptance, it wouldn't change the way Cruz felt.

So when he came to pray, he wished only safe passage for his friends and for their happiness in the afterlife. He didn't promise that he would make Bronquia bleed, or the Imperial Army pay tenfold, for their deaths—he just promised that he would keep what they had stood for alive for as long as it was in his power.

"I hope you're all having fun there," Cruz told the lithograph, giving it a smile and a wink. "Me, I'll do okay. See you tomorrow."

But as he turned to head back down the path, footsteps crunching on the first fallen leaves told him he had company. Standing where he was with a hand on his belt, Cruz watched with surprise as none other than the Princess ducked carefully through the branches to the shrine.

When she reached him, Princess Yggdra gave Cruz a slightly uncertain look and a respectful little bow before she reset the four elements of the shrine and began to burn her own incense. Fascinated and a little bemused, Cruz watched as his new commander spoke a hesitant but meticulous prayer in a language he wasn't familiar with, then bowed deeply to the stone from where she sat, her hands flat on her folded legs.

Finished, the Princess stood, folding her hands once more. "Go in peace," was all she said.

There was a short moment of relative silence as Cruz realized from the Princess' demeanor that she, too, was probably praying for lost soldiers and allies. He'd thought at first that she might have been addressing her parents, the late King and Queen, but then he'd remembered hearing palace staff saying that Princess Yggdra had sworn she would not pray for her parents' souls until she'd avenged their deaths.

Cruz wasn't altogether comfortable with that kind of desire for revenge, but he supposed the Princess was entitled—she'd been a sheltered girl when war had broken out, not a soldier like him. And she'd lost her only family so violently, it was probably all she could do right now.

"I wonder if… it reached them," the Princess said quietly. "Do you suppose it might have?"

"I'm sure it did, Princess," Cruz told her with a smile.

Yggdra nodded. "Thank you. Even though I never met them… your men fought so hard, for the same things that I did. I want to believe that my words can bring them peace… if only a little."

Touched, Cruz found himself momentarily speechless. "…I know they'd like that," he managed at last, feeling his cheeks flush a little.

The two of them began to head back out of the woods in a silence that rested a lot more comfortably than Cruz would have expected. The Princess was chewing at her lip a little as they walked, and fidgeting with the folds of her dress, but Cruz didn't ask; if she wanted to tell him what was on her mind, she would eventually.

After a few more moments, she sighed unhappily. "I… have to confess, I didn't just come here to pray. I was looking for you, and the men told me that I would likely be able to find you here."

"Really? So what's up?" Cruz asked, beaming a friendly smile down on the Princess.

"I—I fear I owe you an apology, Cruz. We—I." She sighed again. "And here I go, making a mess of things. What I mean to say is that the Royal Army must move out again in a few days."

Cruz's eyes went wide. "Seriously? But we barely even got back—and you and Roswell are, like, _just _out of bed! Is that gonna be okay? Did something happen?"

"One of the old women of the palace—she's known as Mother Paltina to my family—has the Sight. She prophesied that a great catastrophe would result from the ritual Bronquia used me to perform unless we stopped them beforehand. According to her, we need the full strength of the Holy Sword to do so, and so we must make for Lombardia with all haste. To use the Gran Centurio's full potential, she says… I have to be crowned Queen of Fantasinia."

The grimace on the Princess' face said she was clearly still uneasy with the concept. Cruz could understand that—only a few months ago she'd been living with the certainty that her parents would continue to hold the throne for years and years, and that she wouldn't inherit until she was an adult with a family of her own. Things were moving so much faster than they would have, due to the war.

"The timing is truly wretched—just when we were beginning to recover from all the fighting—but this can't be avoided. I'm truly so sorry about this…"

"Hey, it's no big deal," Cruz said with a shrug. "You've gotta do what you've gotta do, Princess. If you believe this seer's for real, then we'll do what we can to help stop whatever the Empire's doing this time. You just say the word, and we'll help you all you need."

Yggdra pulled a face. "Still—I don't feel quite right demanding so much of everyone. You've all barely had any time to rest at all… and so many of our men have already lost their lives in all this awful fighting." She glanced significantly in the direction of the shrine they'd just left. "So—how in good conscience can I…?"

Cruz just shook his head. "You know, you're gonna make a really good Queen."

"Huh?" Yggdra blinked, taken aback.

"It's just the way you came out here. You made sure to pay your respects first, and then when you tell me we've gotta get going again, you're all apologies about it—and they're sincere. You know this is something we have to do, but you're as worried about your soldiers as you are about getting this done. You care about your people—and that's half the fight, right there. All the best kings and queens've always been the ones who've loved their people and done their best by them."

"Do you really think—that's enough?" The Princess still seemed uncertain, but she had a hopeful look on her face.

"'Course. Why wouldn't it be?" Cruz reached out to give her a pat on the shoulder as the two of them emerged into the brilliant sun. "You know how to lead, and you know how to care. Everything else, you can pick up on the fly. I'm not worried."

"Not even—because of all the fighting? You've… already lost so much…"

"It's okay," Cruz said, shaking his head. "My men lived and died according to their beliefs, and I'm fighting to keep those beliefs going. That's enough for all of us. And I bet this is the same for a lot of the others, too—I get a lot of peace of mind from knowing that if anything happens to me out on the battlefield, you're going to keep _our _ideals alive or die trying." He paused, cocking his head to the side. "Well… we'd have a lot more peace of mind if you lived, obviously. But, hey. With all the people you've got watching your back, things'll be just fine, you'll see."

"I hope you're right," Yggdra said with a sad smile. "And… thank you, Cruz… for understanding."

"Eh." Embarrassed, he shrugged one shoulder. "Milanor helped us out of a rough spot, and you're a good girl. My boys and I have fought for less before, so that's more than enough for us."

Yggdra nodded, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

:owari:


	9. Happy Material

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

"It's so goddamn hot," Milanor moaned, resting his head on his knees. "This _sucks."_

Yggdra said nothing, but even though they were finally in the shade, she was inclined to agree. She wished mournfully that she had a different outfit to change into, or that there were at least some part of her heavy dress she could remove without affording an impression of impropriety. As it was, all she could do was try to pull her hair up off the back of her neck so it wouldn't stick.

"Perhaps it would be best to start out for the city of Ranquet in the evening, and travel through the night," Mistel suggested faintly. "I don't know if our men can stand another few days of this, Princess. At the very least, Roswell can't."

Yggdra nodded. "Yes—that does seem as though it would be wise," she managed. Her voice sounded distant and tinny in the heavy, choking humidity.

A clammy hand rested weakly on hers; Yggdra turned to glance down at the cot she sat beside, meeting Roswell's fevered gaze.

"I'm sorry," he got out between labored breaths. "I'm—just slowing everyone down again…"

"You've got _that _right," Rosary said sourly from the other side of the room as she shrugged out of her long white coat and threw it on the floor next to her chair.

_"Rosary," _everyone else hissed in tones that ranged from indignant to appalled to annoyed.

"I'm just _saying," _she retorted defensively.

Yggdra turned her back on the witch and lifted Roswell's hand to brush a light kiss over his knuckles. The gesture came to her without thought; she remembered her mother doing the same with her during her childhood sicknesses. "Don't listen to her," she soothed. "We all need a rest, so it's not a bother. We should have started traveling at night in the first place, and saved you all this trouble. Just be still and get your rest, now."

The heat had been taking its toll on her army ever since they'd first ventured into the vast deserts of Nyllard, but the fight with Dort's bandits out under the baking sun had just proved to be too much. As they had advanced down the road to the town of Sornetta, Roswell—who was unquestionably suffering the worst from the heat—had collapsed. Flone had rushed to examine him, and had informed Yggdra and the others that Roswell was suffering from heatstroke. Alarmed, the army had taken the last few miles to Sornetta at a sprint, which had unfortunately utterly exhausted all of them.

Still, they'd made it, and now Yggdra and most of her commanders sat or lay around the room as Flone tended to Roswell. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was starting to set, but it still felt far too hot to do anything else.

With a little groan, Yggdra leaned back in her chair and watched Flone remove her glowing hands from Roswell's, dip a cloth in the bucket of water at the foot of his cot, and lay it out over his forehead. His eyelids fluttered, but other than that he didn't react. His color was starting to come down, though, and that was a great relief. Yggdra had been through Nyllard a few times before when her parents had done ceremonies in the religious districts of Lombardia, and she knew what this kind of heat could do to people.

_Poor Roswell, _she thought sadly, squeezing his hand once before letting it rest on the side of the cot. _He tries so hard, and yet all these things seem to keep happening only to him… I'm sure that if we continue to press on like this, the others will begin to suffer, as well._

Furtively, Yggdra snuck a glance towards the other end of the room, where Milanor's friend Kylier lay stretched out on her back along the rug, lazily fanning herself with a loose sheet of parchment. _When Ms. Kylier decided to come with us, I knew this might be my only chance to make a good impression, and start over from what happened at the Capital… what _must _she think of me? Only the worst kinds of commanders allow these things to happen to their men…_

It was a new experience for Yggdra, being disliked so intensely by anyone she wanted to have a good relationship with. She wanted to mend their fences, but had no idea where to start and was beginning to have the feeling that they were beyond repair.

But—for Milanor's sake, she didn't want this awful awkwardness to continue. It had to be hard for him, being torn between two friends and their conflict like this.

If only there was some way to get past all this awful tension—but a way to do that, like almost everything else lately, seemed to keep slipping right through Yggdra's fingers.

And now Roswell was like this, and she'd been told by the townspeople that she could expect many more encounters with bandits on her way to Lombardia. Why did this have to happen _now? _Even as she'd mustered those forces she could spare, Yggdra had always thought that it would be her _coronation _that would be difficult, and only for her—not the journey towards it.

_I… don't want these people to bleed for me any more than they already have, _Yggdra thought miserably, watching as Roswell's chest rose and fell rapidly beneath the thin white kimono the locals had given him to wear. _But I don't know what I'm supposed to do to stop all of this… it's like trying to hold a breaking dam together with just my own two hands…_

"Hi, everyone!" a cheerful voice trumpeted all too energetically from the doorway.

"Ho boy," Yggdra heard Milanor grumble, and she looked up to see Pamela striking a silly-looking pose in the doorway.

"How can you be so peppy in this heat?" Rosary demanded, glowering at Pamela.

In response, the woodland witch poked her tongue out. "'Cause I'm not a stick-in-the-mud old granny, that's why! Come on, everybody! Why are you looking so gloomy? It's not _all _just 'cause it's hot, _is _it?"

"Well, it… is a little overwhelming," Yggdra said tiredly, barely able to expend any effort to keep the peace.

Flone raised her eyebrows mildly. "If you're going to be in here, you'll have to be quiet, Pamela," she said in a low and patient tone. "If he can't stay relaxed, Roswell won't be able to travel by nightfall."

The young witch shrugged, then beamed. _"Aaaaa_nyway, if the heat's such a big problem, then Pamela's got the answer for it!"

Kylier raised herself up on her elbows and gave Pamela a slightly jaundiced stare. "Yeah, and what's _that _supposed to be?"

"This!" Pamela waved her hands, and a wooden bucket floated into the room from behind her, emptying its contents over Kylier's head.

From the griffon rider's shriek, the water had been very cold indeed, and there was nothing short of bloody murder in her eyes as she leaped up and screeched, "I'm gonna _kill _you for this, you stupid Pamela!"

Pamela fled, giggling madly; swearing vibrantly, Kylier gave chase.

With a little groan—could things _possibly _get any worse today?—Yggdra heaved herself up, gathered her stifling skirts, and managed to trot after them.

_God, _how had it managed to get even _hotter _out here even as the sun formed a scarlet hemisphere on the horizon? Panting and wondering if she would pitch face-first into the sands the way Roswell had if she stayed out here much longer, Yggdra picked up her pace as she drew closer to Pamela and Kylier. The two girls were wildly circling the town fountain, Pamela still laughing and Kylier still spitting obscenities.

"Please, you two…!" Yggdra called as she drew closer. "You're only going to wear yourselves out more if you keep…"

"I'm gonna _kill _you, you stupid—!" Kylier yelled as Pamela zipped past Yggdra. Moaning, Yggdra reached out and grabbed hold of Kylier's upper arm, restraining her.

"This is no place for…" she began, but Kylier ignored her, tugging viciously for freedom.

"Lemme go, I'm gonna _disembowel _that stupid…!"

_"Please _stop," Yggdra begged. "You'll only make it worse and then pass out yourself; Milanor is having a hard enough time of this without having to worry about…!"

Kylier's cheeks darkened, and she whirled on Yggdra, her pale eyes snapping. "Oh, and what would _you _know about what Milanor—?"

"You guys are no fun," piped Pamela, her voice almost right in Yggdra's ear. Yggdra and Kylier both jumped back, and Pamela reached out to give them a little shove that landed them both in the fountain with a riotous splash.

Yggdra spluttered and thrashed and jerked her head above water, shaking with the strain. Her clothes had been heavy enough when they were _dry, _and now that they were soaked through, they were at least ten or twenty extra pounds along her back and chest.

Kylier was already up and fuming. _"Stupid! _What was _that _about?! Are you just freakin' _insane, _or is there _some particular reason _you keep—?!"

Pamela, bent nearly double giggling, didn't reply.

Yggdra coughed and struggled vainly for the lip of the fountain, only hauling herself over to it before the overworked muscles in her arms gave out, leaving her to sprawl helplessly over it with another long-suffering moan.

"Cripes." Strong hands seized Yggdra's shoulders and hauled her to her feet, taking roughly half the water in the fountain with her. "Are you okay? I dunno what that stupid kid was thinking…"

"I-I-I-I…" Yggdra coughed again, wobbled, and nearly pitched over from the weight of her sodden clothes.

Kylier's grip tightened, and her brow came down in annoyance. "For that matter, what are _you _thinking, wearing a dress like this in the desert? If you don't change out of it soon, you're gonna die. C'mon, get outta the fountain before you fall down again and drown this time."

Too weak to do much more than totter and nod, Yggdra let Kylier pull her onto the sparse grass and sand, taking breaths so deep she felt lightheaded. And as the griffon rider brushed and wrung at their clothes with businesslike hands, she saw Pamela give her a thumbs-up and wink.

Yggdra blinked, then felt a sudden wave of gratitude wash over her. She'd spent so much time puzzling over how to solve things herself, and she hadn't even considered asking her comrades for help—yet here one of them had readily handed her an answer.

"Thank you," she said, addressing Kylier but meaning Pamela as well.

"No charge. And _you." _Kylier turned furious eyes on Pamela, who was still standing there grinning. "I would really—_really—_like to deal with you right now, but… I'm… going to go get a change of clothes before I get a cold or something stupid. And I need to make sure the heat's not a problem for Al. Come anywhere the stables and I _will _kill you." With that, she turned on a huff and stomped off, leaving a trail of drips and patches of water along the parched earth.

Yggdra stood still, dripping and wobbling and watching, until Kylier was out of hearing range, then turned to Pamela and nodded. "Thank you…"

"No biggie, Princess!" Pamela replied enthusiastically. "This stuff's like the heat—just don't let it get to you!" She paused, then giggled again. "Though, you should probably change into something lighter, really. You can borrow some of Pamela's clothes if you haven't got any!"

At this, Yggdra couldn't help but giggle a little herself. "I-I don't think they'd fit me, but thank you anyway…"

"Then just take that big heavy top dress-thing off, and we can go _shopping!" _Pamela exclaimed, flinging her arms wide with glee. "We've got time. Come on, let's go!"

For a moment, Yggdra wanted to protest the absurdity of the idea. They were preparing for battle, travel, and all-out war; this was no time to spend money on superfluous things like clothes.

Still, she looked at Pamela's brightly shining expression and decided better of it. She owed the girl for finding out how to end the day with Kylier on a cooperative note, and her formal attire _was _far too hot to be practical in a place like this.

"…Alright," she said at length. "I'll just… find something a little lighter to wear and we can go pick one or two things out."

_"Yaaay!" _Pamela actually jumped up and down and punched the air. "This is gonna be fun!"

Yggdra couldn't help but smile. Everyone, it seemed, was doing what they could for her… in their own way.

:owari:


	10. Faith and Fortitude

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

The battle was over.

Elena sat heavily and stared at her hands. They were still trembling, even now—she couldn't stop them, didn't know how she could even if she'd wanted to. The battle was over. The soldiers were carrying each other to places where they could be treated, so no one would see. It didn't matter.

They'd been so steady, for so long. Elena hadn't thought they would be, at first. All the way down the desert road to the coast, she'd let the doubts ferment in her heart, had wondered over and over if she could really do this. Against Leon, who'd been too far gone to save, perhaps—but to fight her own countrymen like this, when she knew and understood all too well the ideals for which they fought?

But her hands had been steady. She'd made her choice, her decision; she had to live with the consequences. So had Leon, so did the soldiers she fought—so did they all. She hadn't faltered, hadn't hesitated, hadn't given in to the desire to turn tail and run rather than kill her own people.

She'd dealt death swiftly and mercifully, killing instantly and then moving on to the next foes. She'd done as she'd been trained to do.

Then she'd seen Zilva, and her heart had begun to hammer and her hands had begun to shake. Her teacher hadn't noticed her, at first; she'd raised her crossbow for the swift kill in order to help her new allies, but her fingers had locked on the trigger and she'd found she couldn't fire. She couldn't turn, couldn't even choose another battle to fight—she'd just stayed there like an animal in a trap as Zilva had seen her, whirled and tackled her, held her armored claws to her pupil's throat.

And hesitated. Elena was sure she would always remember how her teacher's eyes had narrowed as she held the killing edge of those razor-sharp blades barely an inch from her unprotected skin, how they'd flickered with something that could've been regret or distaste or anger. But Zilva had hesitated. Elena could have turned the tables then, killed her former commander, if she hadn't been shaking, unable to move. Zilva, she was sure, had known it. And yet Zilva had still not finished her off.

They'd stayed that way for an expanse of time Elena couldn't measure, two trained killers prevented by attachment from doing what they were meant to do. Then the Imperial defenses around the gate to Lombardia had fallen, and Zilva had jumped off and back, signaling the troops to pull out.

There had been more fighting—the Scarlet Princess, the Meriant soldiers—but to Elena it was barely more than a blur. She'd hung to the back of the forces and shook like a leaf, all the while.

Even now, she couldn't do anything else.

"Elena."

Elena jumped, startled badly, and turned to where the Astral Fencer Russell was standing nearby, watching her as he cleaned his sword.

"Is everything alright? You look… well, you seem in a bad way. It's not like you."

Elena hesitated for a moment, but came to sit on the edge of the fountain he was standing beside. She'd fought several battles with the Royal Army now, and even lived with them as though she were native to Fantasinia for a little while, but she still found most of their number difficult to talk to. Even though their air of suspicion had vanished after she'd helped them escape from Lost Aries, she just didn't consider herself one of them. Not yet. Not really.

Russell, though—she was easier with him than the others. They'd fought beneath the same banner before, and she knew what kind of man he was—but more, even though he hadn't done it of his own free will, he'd still fought on Bronquia's behalf. He knew why it was they fought, and so even if it was just a little bit, Bronquia was in his heart, in his blood.

"…Russell, do you… think we can really keep doing this?"

Russell seemed to understand—his motions slowed until he rested his cloth against the balance point of his blade, then turned to give Elena a regretful look. "We can, because we have to. I don't like it. There'd be something wrong with us if we were completely fine with it, you know. A little while ago, those people were our comrades. People we fought with, people we trusted and respected. But… as it is, even if you wanted to go back, they wouldn't let you, and… my loyalty to the Kingdom is stronger than to the Empire." He looked back at his blade, resumed rubbing it down. "I imagine it's probably a lot harder for you than it is for me, though."

Elena rested her face in her hands. The trembling shifted from them to her shoulders.

"I saw you and Zilva facing off earlier. Elena—you shouldn't go after her again, not if you can help it. She means too much to you for you to be able to fight her, and even I could tell her emotions were getting in her way, too. But circumstances might force your hand, or hers. I don't know if you could live with having to take your mentor down."

"I thought… if I could just end it quickly…" Elena sighed, knowing that her pain was perfectly audible in her voice. "I couldn't. I can't. But I can't turn back now; I'd be twice the disgrace I already am if I tried. This is… the path I chose; everything else is closed to me now."

Both of them were silent for a while.

"Russell…"

"Uh-huh?"

"How are we going to be able to fight… if we have to face _him?"_

There was a long silence from Russell; Elena peeked up to see that he'd stopped polishing his sword again, and was staring off into the distance.

"I don't know," he said at last. "To be honest with you… I've never been able to make up my mind how I feel about that. Even the way Flone's taken everything, I think about what he did to us and I get so _angry, _but I remember what it is he's fighting for and I feel guilty about it. Despite it all, I… I think I'd rather not face him. As a warrior… and as a man… he's someone I respect." A pause. "And there's honor to think of, too, isn't there? I mean—it doesn't exactly feel right, fighting someone so much younger than I am." Russell added this as though he was attempting light humor, but the smile died on his face.

Elena said nothing. She could hear how conflicted even Russell was, and he hadn't lived through the revolution the way she had. He hadn't lived in Bronquia in the years before. He didn't, _couldn't _really understand the drastic change from living in fear to living in hope.

"There's no such thing as good and evil in a war like this," Russell said. "There's only duty… and doing what you can within that duty. You know that. I know that. It may not make it any easier, but…"

Elena still didn't answer him.

"…You know… I'm probably not the best person to talk to you about this. Wait here a moment…"

And off he went, his footsteps crunching as he walked off the road and onto sand.

Elena rested her face in her hands again with another sigh.

* * *

"…Elena?"

For the second time, Elena nearly jumped at the sound of the voice, staring up into the wide, concerned eyes of Princess Yggdra. She hadn't thought that _this _was what Russell had meant to do when he'd said he wasn't the right one to talk to her!

"Y..your Highness…?" she managed. Yggdra folded her skirts and sat next to Elena, completely heedless of the assassin's utter surprise.

"I'm sorry," Yggdra said after a long, solemn stare.

"Sorry… what do you have to be sorry for?" Elena managed.

"I don't think I ever properly considered what you must be going through, fighting for us. Even though you are our ally, it was through more circumstance than choice, wasn't it?"

Elena hung her head. Here it was—she'd known the others still felt this way. And could she blame them? Once someone turned traitor, they could never be fully trusted again…

"But the fact is that even though you are one of us, even though it's easy to think of you almost as though you're Fantasinian because of it… you're still Bronquian. We're fighting our enemies, but you… our enemies were your people once. Forgive me. I should've seen earlier the pain this has put you in," Yggdra said softly, placing a gentle hand on Elena's shoulder.

Elena couldn't respond for a full half minute. "Your Highness…" she said at last. "I-I thought… for a moment, I…" She swallowed, shook her head, and tried again. "Please, you don't need to be concerned about me… this was a choice I made myself, and because I was able to stop my brother, I'm willing to live with the consequences."

Yggdra just looked at her for a moment. "That doesn't change the fact that we've put you in a difficult position… remember that although you may be Bronquian, you _are _one of us. You've proved that so many times over lately… and because you're one of us, remember that if you're suffering, you can always come to us when you need us. You're a very strong person… and I admire that. I don't think I could have done what you have. Still… even the strongest of us must lay down our burdens at some point."

"Your Highness…"

"Just come to whoever of us you feel you can talk to," Yggdra told her with a bright smile, squeezing her shoulder. "Russell or Milanor, for instance, if you're uncomfortable with me. By giving us your allegiance, you've sacrificed home, friends, and family… so, let us compensate however we can. Okay?"

Elena blinked at her, overwhelmed with both a sense of gratitude and one of nostalgia.

Yggdra tilted her head slightly to the side. "…Elena…? Is something wrong? I haven't said anything to offend you, have I?"

"Oh—no, no, of course not!" Elena held up her hands and shook her head, flustered. "I was just… thinking. What you said… reminded me very much of someone…"

"Someone…?" Yggdra looked puzzled.

"Yes…" Elena smiled and blinked again, her eyes stinging. "…Thank you… very much. For your offer, and… for letting me see for myself… that you're a very good person. Don't worry. I won't let my memories and my doubts get in the way in battle. And if… they become too much to bear, I know I can talk to someone about them. I…" She shook her head. "It's… not as different here as I thought it might be. And it helps… just knowing that as part of the Royal Army, I still have a leader I can believe in."

"…" Yggdra still looked confused, but she smiled and nodded. "I'm glad… Elena."

:owari:


	11. As the Day Breathes

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

The day was breaking.

Yggdra's shoes rang on the cobbled streets as she flew through them, navigating the mazelike pathways of St. Meriata towards the field hospital. The horizon was flaring red-gold far off to her right, painting the white city in deep floral tones.

The coin-shaped ball of the sun was deep scarlet.

_The red dawn rising, the bloody night spent._

There was blood enough, and the scarring of weapons, of horses' hooves and dragons' claws. Places where cannon shells had exploded, and areas singed by fire magic. So much destruction. It seemed to haunt her wherever she went. Would she ever be free from it?

Would there ever be a day when she wasn't running like this, so afraid for someone else's life more than she was for her own?

That, and similar despondent thoughts brought on by her violent, sleepless night, were banished as she turned a corner and set eyes on the hospital at last.

There were a great many people in here receiving treatment. Her belly clenched tightly as she picked her way through rows of beds where men and women lay pressing bandages onto red-soaked shoulders or hips or backs, trying to stanch the flow of blood. Yggdra heard Flone's voice, though she didn't see the cleric, and thought she glimpsed Russell passing out supplies in the corner of her eye.

It took her a moment to find him. Beyond the fact that her mind was filled with the death Gulcasa usually wrought and her eyes were drawn to the beds with the worst cases, she hardly recognized him out of his heavy plate armor and chain mail. But at last she saw him in one of the beds at the very end of the row, propped against a series of pillows, all bandaged up and leafing through a book.

As she approached, he glanced up, his smoke-gray eyes meeting hers. There was a flicker of surprise across his face, and he dogeared his page and set his book aside, running a hand through his short blond hair.

"Sir Gordon…"

"Your Highness—or should I say Your Majesty?" He smiled at her, unbelievably. "It's good to see you back."

Yggdra just shook her head miserably, and sat down on the empty bed next to his. "How are your injuries doing…?"

"They aren't so bad. You forget—as a Temple Knight, I'm used to campaign wars. I've had worse." He grimaced, then laughed a little. "Probably."

Yggdra just looked at him despairingly.

"Now, what's that face for, Majesty? It's a… very interesting combination of sad eyes and the desire to tear into me, if I may be so bold as to say."

She sighed. "Sir Gordon… I'm sure you're well aware of this by now, but I can't help but reiterate—it was an extremely foolish risk you took, attempting to halt the main force of the Imperial Army on your own. You were hurt very badly, and could easily have died. Gulcasa is not known for showing mercy—and in its current state, Lombardia needs you now more than ever."

"A man has duties over the course of his life," Gordon replied easily. "What kind of people would any of us be, if we couldn't see to our duties?"

"It's beyond duty to try to play the hero, to endanger yourself so recklessly—and that's something I'm sure you've been told over and over since you were brought here." Yggdra sighed. "Sir Gordon, I'm sorry."

"Now, what have you to be sorry for, Majesty?"

"Far too many things, it seems." Yggdra shook her head, closed her eyes and rubbed her hands over her face. The ruined holy city, and the blood she'd spilled on the altar of Welheim, weighed at her. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she knew that there was much more she had to do before then—and that nightmares would likely plague her when she tried.

They came so often now that she'd caught herself wanting to ask Flone for the drugs healers used to induce dreamless sleep. She was furious with herself for fostering such thoughts, such weakness; still, she couldn't keep herself from wishing.

"We're the ones who brought this war here," she said softly. "Lombardia is such an old and tired land… it deserves better than this constant battle. And even though I so thoughtlessly brought bloodshed here, when the time came, I couldn't stay here to defend it. When I left—when I left, I only had one responsibility, to see the Pope through safely… and I couldn't even accomplish that. Apologies aren't enough to make any of this better… but they're all I have. Sir Gordon, I'm so sorry."

"My Queen."

It was said with reverence, with humor, and something like love. Yggdra blinked, confused, and glanced up to see that Gordon was smiling at her.

"That's right, lift up your head. The crown is a heavy burden—all of us who've thought of the toll it must take realize that—but it's not so heavy that you can bow beneath it. Keep your chin up, Majesty. If you continued past here selfishly, thinking only of the war you have yet to wage, we would blame you. Lombardia would blame you for our losses, and we would turn our faces from you. We would be prepared for that, my Queen; we've had that response before from your ancestors.

"But you—you have come here, grieving for our losses and taking all their weight upon yourself. And so, I and all others to whom you come with your self-blame will say to you… it's alright. That you feel this way about what has happened here is enough for us. You couldn't have known for sure what would happen when you came here… and it's enough for us that you did the best you could."

As she heard his words, Yggdra was struck with the intense desire to just break down and start to cry. She didn't understand it; she couldn't give in to it. But she couldn't keep looking at Gordon's easy, accepting smile and keep her eyes from stinging.

"You need sleep," he told her. "And I've a feeling you won't get much in the next few weeks. Lay down your head for now; just take a short rest. You'll be moving on soon enough."

Yggdra couldn't speak. All she could do was nod, and gingerly rest against the edge of his mattress as her heavy eyelids fluttered lower and lower until she couldn't keep them open any longer.

* * *

Roswell found her there an hour later, curled up half on the bedspread and half sliding out of her chair, with Gordon paging through his book with one hand and lightly stroking her coiled braids with the other.

As he approached them, the knight looked up and nodded to him.

"You take good care of this one," he said in a low voice. "In this country, we've known a lot of kings and queens… and even as far as they go, she's special. Don't let her wear herself down. If Lombardia didn't need me… I think I might be tempted to leave my men behind and fight with you myself."

Roswell bent down and laid a hand to Yggdra's shoulder; she shifted and murmured slightly in her sleep, but didn't wake.

"We know," he said at length. "We… all know her worth. So you needn't worry. Even if she didn't hold the fate of her country in her hands… she's important to each and every one of us. No matter what happens, we will ensure she makes it through this alive and well."

He stood and turned the sheets down on the empty bed next to Gordon's, then softly and gently eased Yggdra into his arms. She turned towards him in her sleep, nestling close against his chest; a kind of light and warmth came into his eyes, and he was smiling slightly as he laid her down and tucked her in. He lingered for a moment over her—perhaps to whisper something in her ear, or to brush a gentle kiss over her hair—before he stood.

"For better or worse… she's all we have now," he said to Gordon. "So you needn't worry for her. I'm sure you will anyway—I would, we all would, if we couldn't follow her—but it's something you should know. We'll keep her safe until the time comes for the two of you to meet again."

Gordon looked at him for a while, then smiled and nodded. "I understand."

:owari:


	12. My Favorite Mistake

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

"Kylier?! Kylier! _Kylier!! _Hey!"

The voice seemed to be coming from a very long way away.

_"Kylier?! _C'mon—say something!"

Her ears were ringing. Her ears were ringing, her arms and legs were tingling vaguely, and her back and chest felt like they were just one giant bruise. And the voice seemed to be such a long, long way away.

_"Kylier!"_

But it was getting closer. And it was Milanor—and he sounded really worried about her, which brought on an indistinct case of the warm fuzzies. As her head started to pound, she shook it tentatively in a very slow motion and tried to open her eyes.

"Kylier…?!"

"Mi… Milanor." Her eyelids felt so ridiculously heavy—so did everything else, for that matter. But she managed to fight that heaviness long enough for his fear-whitened face to swim into view against a red sky torn with storms and smoke.

"Kylier…" There was a squeeze at her shoulders—Milanor seemed to be gripping them. It looked like he was sitting next to her, leaning down over her. "Kylier, you damn _idiot! _What the _hell _did you do that for, huh?! You're so stupid!"

Kylier blinked, confused. Her head still felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. But more than that—were those streaks through the grime on Milanor's face from _tears? _It was a preposterous thought—she'd known him for years, and she'd never known him to cry—but she couldn't think what else they could be.

There was something itchy on her cheek. It was distracting, and making it even _harder _for her to think. But it was hard to raise her arm and make it do what she wanted it to.

"…Al…?" she managed to croak. Where was he? The last thing she remembered was flying with him, flying to… somewhere. Flying really fast.

"Shh. Don't think, don't look. You're hurt bad—don't worry about anything right now."

There was something—something about the weird look on Milanor's face—that put a deep and fundamental fear in her belly, something she didn't quite want to approach. She didn't know what was going on, but it was hard enough to figure out with this stupid itchy thing on her face that—

Finally getting her hand to cooperate, she dragged her arm over the barren ground and clumsily swiped her fingers over her cheek. They came away holding a bloody, grimy orange feather.

And she remembered. The siege—that magical cannon-thing—the attack. The _explosion._

"Al…?" she asked again, her voice starting to shake.

"Kylier—no, don't look—"

As she turned her face to the side, Milanor turned it back towards him, holding up his other hand to block her view.

Still, she got the briefest glimpse of a sickly twisted hind leg soaked in blood, missing flesh and bone in several places.

"Al—oh, _God—"_

"Kylier…"

But her breath was coming in spurts and starts, and pain shot through her broken body as the tears spilled over. The thickness in her head got stronger and stronger, until there was nothing anymore but pain and confusion and horror.

* * *

Kylier jolted awake with a shallow gasp, staring at a blank white ceiling.

"Kylier?"

She knew _that _voice. Confused, the griffon rider pushed herself up stiffly, then turned to see Yggdra framed in the doorway.

"You're finally awake—what a relief…"

Bewildered, Kylier glanced around. The room she was in was plain, and just had a bed and some chairs in it. Yggdra had changed out of her formal dress and was wearing instead a pale green dress over a white shift; she was carrying what looked like medical supplies. Kylier herself was in a loosely fitting kimono with a blue stripe down the shoulder, and bandages across her chest and arms.

Yggdra had closed the door and was sitting down.

"Everyone's been so terribly worried for you," she said. "Milanor in particular—he's asleep right now, but I'll tell him you're awake as soon as he's up. He's been in to check on you every day, and I can't blame him—you almost died back there."

Kylier just shook her head. "What… what happened? What's going on? The last thing I remember…" _no, don't think about it, don't think don't think _"…was the fight at the gates… where is this place?"

"This is an infirmary we set up on the outskirts of Flarewerk," Yggdra explained. "The battle—the _war—_ended a little over a week ago. Right now, we're just concentrating on helping the injured recover."

"It's… all over?" Kylier repeated. Was _that _hard to absorb… She rested on her side with a grimace, still watching Yggdra. "So… I guess you finally got your revenge, huh?"

Yggdra closed her eyes and smiled a little, and slowly shook her head. "…No."

"Huh?"

"No, I… this place…" Yggdra shook her head again, looking at her hands. "I realized a while ago… I really realized for the first time just how right you were, about everything. I never saw… maybe I never wanted to… but I never noticed before just how badly Fantasinia has treated the peoples of this world that don't agree with our values. If we don't change things now… then how can we expect them to change in the future?" She stared up at the ceiling. "It's… difficult to handle, but right now… what we can do here is try to help everyone who's hurt. We're treating the Imperial wounded here, as well as our own. The Imperial commanders who survived are all doing very well; they seem as though they'll be fully recovered in a few months.

"And… Gulcasa…" Yggdra hesitated for a moment. "I'm not sure. He's in worse condition than most… and he seems to have abandoned his will to live. There has to be some way to convince him not to give up… no matter what happens, I won't stop trying."

Kylier sat still and blinked at her, honestly astonished. "…Well, not that this isn't a nice change… but what brought this on? You walked into Bronquia still determined you were gonna kill him, weren't you?"

"That's true." Yggdra laced her fingers together. "But when I saw how much the people of Bronquia love him… I started wondering, and the things you'd said that time… along with things I'd heard from Elena and Russell, and things I myself have seen… they all started to make a lot of sense. In my anger, in my grief, I'd closed my eyes to things I should have realized earlier, because I didn't want to think of them… thank the heavens I managed to start considering these things before it was too late. And then, in the battle at the castle… when it became clear Gulcasa intended to sacrifice his own life to attempt to save his people… all I could think was that I had to stop this, I had to keep him alive, so that the same cycle of hatred that brought me to this place wouldn't begin over again. I've done what I can… I don't want to fight anymore. Not after all this bloodshed, not after I've lost so many soldiers. I don't want their deaths to be in vain…

"And, if I'd taken this so far, it would have happened all over again. I'm sure of it. Besides, if I had killed Gulcasa, and razed all Bronquia to the ground, it wouldn't change what happened to my parents. It wouldn't have brought them back to life."

Kylier considered her—it hadn't been all that long since they'd argued back at Ishnad, but Yggdra seemed older somehow, wiser. She'd lost the shortsighted stubbornness that had driven Kylier nuts since the time they'd first really met, at the battle for the capital city of Fantasinia.

"Looks like you grew up a little," she said, and let the approval in her voice leak through. "It's a good thing. After all, you are the Queen now, huh? So it's good you've finally smartened up some."

Yggdra's smile grew, and she ducked her head almost bashfully. "Thank you. It means a lot, coming from you…"

Kylier made a face. "…Oh, please."

"I've been… I've been thinking about your words a great deal. I want to learn from you. Milanor has always held you in such high regard… and I have so much respect for what you were willing to do for us. I don't want to be the kind of sovereign who is capable of doing such horrible things to your people as Fantasinia's actions against the Vanir."

Kylier considered pointing out how close Yggdra had come to being just the kind of queen who'd do things like that—after all, she _had _kinda plowed through Bronquia without a second thought—but decided better of it. It sounded like Yggdra'd been through enough, and finally learned her lesson.

"Although… actually, there's something I've been wanting to ask you, if that's alright…"

Kylier shrugged one shoulder, then winced as her stiff muscles protested the motion. "Yeah, sure. What do you want?"

"There's something you said at the battle for the Arc of Triumph… what you told Milanor, when he asked why you'd come to help us then…" Yggdra paused. "You said… that it was better him than Gulcasa; what did you mean by that?"

The old bitterness twisted Kylier's expression into a grimace, and she flopped back onto her pillows with a sigh. "Look, I was just… about that. If there's going to be some kind of king or emperor or something who's gonna rule over this entire continent… I just thought that Milanor would be better for it than Gulcasa would. Y'know. He'd probably be able to… consider the lower classes more. Things like that." And the possibility of it, though it would be good for the world, was a deathly weight on Kylier's chest.

"Er… I-I'm not sure I take your meaning…" Yggdra looked completely puzzled.

Kylier shot her an annoyed stare. "Well, wouldn't he be? Unless you've been stringing him on or something stupid—he'll wind up being a king, won't he?"

"Eh?" Yggdra blinked. "Eh… eh…?"

"You. And Milanor. Would probably make better rulers than Gulcasa." Kylier forced it through her teeth and wondered if she looked as murderous as she felt.

"Eh—you mean…" And Yggdra's face flamed brilliant pink. "You mean…? Oh. Oh… um… I-I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding…"

"Huh?"

"Milanor and I aren't like that," Yggdra said carefully, patiently, her cheeks a shade of pink that Kylier had only seen before on flowers and snooty noble ladies' lips. "He's my friend; he's a very _dear _friend to me… but he's nothing more than that. It… would be a little like marrying my brother, to consider it… and besides, I'm certain that you're the only girl he's ever cried for."

It was Kylier's turn to blink.

"Huh? You mean—you mean that, all this time, he's just been…?"

Yggdra nodded.

"A-and so all this time… when you've been…?"

Yggdra nodded again.

"L-like… marrying a brother, you said?"

Yggdra covered her face in both hands and nodded vigorously.

"Oh." Kylier covered her own face. "Oh. Oh, God. Okay. Well, shit." She tried not to tremble, tried to ignore the way her skin burned beneath her hands. "Uh, since I seem to have used up both of my own, you think I can borrow somebody else's foot to cram in my mouth?"

Yggdra giggled.

"I mean—_shit, _all this time I've been fantasizing about throttling you and peeling off your toenails and hanging you off a castle tower naked in the dead of winter and I had it _completely wrong?_ God, this is so humiliating. What kind of clingy, possessive, banshee-from-hell girlfriend do I _look _like?"

Yggdra kept giggling.

"And all this time I've been wanting to smack my head into the nearest wall over and over 'cause for whatever weird reason I just can't help but _like _you—I can actually like you without being paranoid? Oh, God. Somebody please just shoot me right now, and spare me the trouble."

"We all make mistakes," Yggdra ventured timidly, still giggling. "And—and I'm sure I would've felt the same way…?"

Kylier removed her hands from her face and stuck her tongue out at the young queen. "Hey, did I ask for an editorial?"

But she grinned, and Yggdra kept right on laughing.

"Well, shit. Talk about your surreal conversation. Least I can stop hating you now, I guess."

Still giggling, Yggdra wiped at her eyes. "I'm glad."

"And I guess I can finally stop trying to come up with dumb excuses to follow you around. Since I know you're not out to pilfer my Milanor behind my back, or anything."

Yggdra nodded vigorously again. "I'm glad we could finally sort this out, at least…"

Kylier shook her head. "Yeah, really…"

"So… are you feeling better now?" Yggdra asked, smiling brilliantly.

"I guess…" Kylier set the heel of her hand to her forehead. "A little like an idiot, and… a lot like the past few weeks have just been some kinda screwed-up dream."

"I'm glad."

"'Course… now that you're on the right track, and everything… you know I can't just leave you to handle things yourself, right? There's still a lot to settle before you can get down to working for peace. And, hey, somebody's gotta go tell the Vanir and everybody in Marduk that you're actually not the incarnation of all evil. Who else can you trust for that?"

Yggdra placed a hand to her heart and nodded.

"It's an honor to have you with us, Kylier."

:owari:


	13. Beauty in the Breakdown

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

He was ready when Yggdra opened the door hesitantly—sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed, dressed in the deep red pants and black sleeveless shirt she'd been told to give him, that she'd been told were one of the few spare outfits he had left. He was staring at her—no, watching her, his eyes wary and measuring. Something that wasn't quite trust, but not quite hatred either.

It was disconcerting, Yggdra felt, to be stared at so. Not with hostility, but like you were something the other person had never quite seen before and was trying his hardest to figure out. Especially when you were straining for some kind of understanding, too.

It was like standing on the opposite sides of a wide room, or a divide. Never speaking, not really communicating, just reaching as if to bridge the vast distance between. Except that this was a lot more difficult to tear down than a solid wall, more difficult to cross than simple empty space. There was long hatred there, acts and words of hatred and misunderstanding and prejudice and preconception and mistrust and blood and death.

Yggdra was never sure what she was supposed to say to him.

After a few moments of awkward silence, she gestured lamely at Gulcasa and clasped her hands behind her back. "Um… are you sure you want to go like this…? I mean… would you rather change your bandages first, or…"

Gulcasa blinked, then turned his impassive gaze to the linen crossing his forearms and reached up to brush his fingertips across the heavier layer covering his throat. All three series of bandages were blotched heavily with deep brown-red blood. "…No, it's alright. I see no need to conceal my state from her." His eyes flicked back up to Yggdra. "My sisters are the only family I have left in this world; they don't deserve lies from me on something like this."

Yggdra nodded and fiddled with the ends of her hair. "I see. Yes, I understand."

Another silence.

Gulcasa reached out, closed one of his heavy hands around the carved bedpost, and pulled himself to his feet. A brief spasm of pain crossed his face, and had Yggdra inching into the room, worry tightening her chest.

He looked up, and obviously saw the desire to help on her face, and something in his expression closed off. "I don't need to lean on anyone. I can walk on my own." Irritation in his voice, and a minute lowering of his eyelids that said that this was a typical feminine affront to his masculine pride—one that he would have none of. Yggdra sighed and forced herself not to reach out and slide his arm over her shoulders.

They walked down the infirmary halls in uncomfortable silence. Yggdra knew where she was going, and continually glanced up at Gulcasa as they went. Sometimes she could read him, and sometimes she couldn't. Now, for instance, she had absolutely no idea what was going through his mind. She'd never known anyone who was quite as difficult to understand as he was. Did it have anything to do with the draconic blood running through his veins, she wondered, or Brongaa's influence on him? Or was this just the way he was?

Watching him, she remembered the first time they'd laid eyes on each other—the night she'd seen him cross blades with her father in the middle of the throne room, watched her father run him through and watched him use their closeness to send his scythe tearing through the old king's chest, killing him instantly. As her father's body had fallen, he'd pulled Ordene's simple sword from his body with a growled curse, cast it aside, and almost collapsed himself as he coughed a burst of bright blood. Brushing at it distractedly, he'd glanced up and their eyes had met. With his own blood staining his lips and chin and splashes of her father's on his face and armor, he'd looked inhuman and terrifying, and his golden eyes had been sharp and cold. She'd never hated or feared anyone as much as she had in that moment, and all she'd been able to do after that was run.

She'd fought him for Paltina barely a month afterwards, and all she'd been able to feel then was that same terror and hatred. She'd become his captive, and she hadn't known what to make of the humanity she'd seen in him then. She'd watched him all but hollowed out by grief when he'd lost one of his generals—one of his friends, she supposed. She'd seen him fussing over his soldiers, play-wrestling with his dragon in camps, laughing with his bodyguards and bickering with Aegina. And whenever they'd had to interact, he'd stiffened, taken on an air of mixed formality and sarcasm that she decided in retrospect meant that he hadn't known how he was supposed to act around her any more than she had around him.

Yggdra _still _didn't know how to act around him, but that was beyond the point.

They'd still fought. Again and again, and each time he'd become more desperate. He'd been fighting not to subjugate her people, but for the freedom of his own. With desperation, he'd shown rage and recklessness, and finally she'd stood in Castle Bronquia with her soldiers pushing his back and her sword had begun to rapidly vibrate in her hands and she'd _felt _the sense of defeat settle over his heart, had _felt _his stubborn decision that no matter what it cost him he would see the battle won. Had known that he meant to kill himself to see that happen.

She'd come back to herself all but sobbing and knowing that she had to stop him. Not just to save the world from Brongaa, but to save him from his ancestor and from himself. That she had to stop him just to save him.

So Yggdra had chased him into the burning depths of the castle on her own, and due to her arguments and stalling and his own failing body she'd managed to pull him back from the altar at the edge of the abyss. She'd gotten him outside with Milanor's help, and had gotten his treatment started. He hadn't wanted to cooperate. The first thing he'd done when he'd awakened had been to try to kill himself, and he'd kept on trying until he must have tried fifty or sixty different ways in the past few weeks.

But yesterday—yesterday she thought she'd gotten through to him. Just for a moment, at least. She'd gone in to tell him that his people were pulling through. He'd tried to kill her—well, he'd really been trying to kill himself, again—and they'd had at each other, at the top of their lungs. But she'd managed to make him stop, and think. And they'd talked a little bit. Testing the waters, trying to understand.

She'd gotten him to smile, just for a moment. It had amazed her, how much it softened and warmed the harshness of his face when he'd smiled. And how it had made something turn over hard in her chest when he had.

But here they were again, on opposite sides of that divide. This was an impossible man, Yggdra decided. He would let you in the slightest bit, just a few steps, and then he would shut down and close you out. It had been so long, and Yggdra thought she was beginning to understand bits and pieces of him better, but Gulcasa was still so hard for her to read.

Even as she thought it, he glanced down at her and his eyes narrowed.

"Is there something on my face?"

"Eh? No—"

"Why are you staring at me?" Not quite curious and not quite confrontational. Just annoyed.

Yggdra looked away quickly. "I'm sorry. I was—thinking."

He made a noncommittal sound, and they lapsed into silence again.

Yggdra stopped, reached out and laid a hand on his arm. "…We're here," she said, and gestured to the door.

Gulcasa nodded, and opened it. He walked through without sparing her another glance. Yggdra followed him after a moment of hesitation, but stayed just inside the door as he continued to the chair she'd left at the side of the bed.

"Emilia." He said it softly, even kindly, as he leaned forward, rested his hands along the sheets someone had smoothed back over her. She was curled up with her face half-buried in the pillow; Yggdra couldn't tell by looking at her if she was awake or not.

Apparently, Gulcasa could distinguish; she opened her eyes and sat up as soon as she saw him there, then winced a little as the motion strained her mostly-healed wounds. "Oniisama…"

His eyes half-closed, and that slow smile stole across his face again as he reached out and laid his hand on her hair, giving it a slight ruffle. "…I'm glad."

As Yggdra watched silently, careful not to intrude, Emilia's lower lip trembled, and she launched herself hard into her brother's arms, sobbing desperately. Gulcasa closed his eyes and rocked her in gentle motions.

It was only when he said, "Stop apologizing, stupid little sister—there's nothing you have to be ashamed of" that she realized Emilia had been crying the words "I'm sorry" over and over and over.

"But—" Emilia wailed. "But, but I—I couldn't—I wanted to protect you and everyone, and I—!"

"You're not the Empress yet," Gulcasa told her, his voice light and teasing. "It's not your job to 'protect everyone'. You've still got a little more growing up to do until then." And his voice went serious, his smile sad. "No—I'm the one who should apologize to you. You're so much stronger, so much braver than most girls your age—I leaned on you too hard. You wouldn't have been hurt if I could've been a better brother to you. You—and everyone in this country—you're all my responsibility. If I were a stronger man, I would've been enough to defend this place without burdening you so much. I'm sorry, Emilia."

_I shouldn't be watching this, _Yggdra realized guiltily. Quietly, carefully, she slipped back through the door, leaning against the wall just outside it. She listened as Emilia scolded her brother for taking on too much and Gulcasa scolded her back for much the same thing. They talked for a little while too softly for Yggdra to hear, and then they laughed together in the way of people surprised that they still remembered how to do something so carefree as laugh.

Yggdra thought that if this was the real Gulcasa or very close to it, then his people were exactly right to love him the way they did. It was a kind man, and a good brother, who would dote on a sister so much younger than him the way Gulcasa did.

It was several more minutes before Gulcasa emerged from the room, and when he did he just looked at Yggdra in a way that said he clearly expected them to head back now.

"How is she?" Yggdra asked.

"Sleeping," Gulcasa replied, and Yggdra peeked into the room to see that Emilia was indeed snuggled back into her pillow. He'd tucked her in, and given her the oversized teddy bear sitting on her dresser to cuddle. "She's been worrying, and it's worn her out. She should do better now." When Yggdra closed the door carefully, he began walking back, and she had to jog to catch up to him. "…You seem to really be concerned for her. The others, too. I appreciate that."

Yggdra shook her head. "Not at all," she said to him. "If not for me they wouldn't be like this—it would be a poor leader who wasn't interested in setting right the things she nearly destroyed."

Gulcasa's eyes were anything but distant or cold when he glanced at her—they were almost as gentle as they'd been when he'd been speaking with Emilia. "…I appreciate that, too."

They headed back to his room in silence, and Yggdra couldn't think of anything to say to break it comfortably. Gulcasa didn't even look at her once, and when he returned to his bed and sat heavily on the edge, he just rested his face in his hands. Yggdra would've just left without a second thought if she hadn't noticed his shoulders shaking slightly.

Confused and a little concerned, she drew closer, and realized he was trembling tightly, all his muscles locked. If he were making even any noise at all, she would've thought he was crying, but—

He drew in a sharp, controlled breath and let it out on an even more terse and controlled sigh. And shook just a little more.

Not sure what she was supposed to do, Yggdra sat beside him and watched him closely. Between his hands and the cascade of his long scarlet hair, she couldn't really see his expression, but the line of his jaw was rigid, as though he'd gritted his teeth.

No matter what he was thinking or doing, it was clear that he was upset. Without thinking, Yggdra reached out as if to place her hand on his shoulder.

As she did, Gulcasa turned and lashed out with his left arm, his fist clenched. Yggdra jerked back and held her hands up in front of her face, his bandaged arm slapping against her palms. His eyes blazed with deep fury, and Yggdra clearly saw the tears pooled in them and the thin tracks over his cheekbones.

Then Gulcasa turned away from her, and lowered his arm in a slow and controlled movement. He rested both his hands on his legs, bunching them into fists on the fabric of his pants just above his knees. His hair screened his face from her view, but she saw and heard tears drip to bead on the backs of his hands. She could only imagine the amount of effort it was taking him to remain silent.

His need easily overwhelmed her common sense, and she reached out to him again. This time he barely even reacted to the light touch of her hand on his shoulder—all he did was clench his fists a little tighter and give a low hiss as he breathed out.

He didn't turn to her as she edged closer, didn't move as she lightly ran her hand down his back and brought it back up to his shoulder, then repeated the motion in a gentle stroke. He didn't make any sound of protest, or any sound at all other than the roughening edge to his breathing as she reached out gently with her left hand to take hold of his right shoulder, to brush her fingers across the side of his face and softly, softly coax him down until his temple rested against her shoulder. He sat there rigidly for a moment, shaking uncontrollably and bracing himself to hold in any sob that tried to escape, as she put her arm around his waist, stroking his long hair with her free hand.

When she let her left hand rest over his, he reached out almost impulsively with his right, resting it heavily—almost clutching—on her left shoulder. His grip tightened—Yggdra had to wonder if it would bruise—and he sat very still as she rested her cheek to his forehead and his stubbornly silent tears soaked the shoulder of her dress.

* * *

Something was different about today.

It had been a week since then, and Yggdra had come to visit for an hour or so every single day. They spoke of stupid things, laughed sometimes, talked seriously others. Gulcasa was usually left to himself otherwise, and boredom swiftly became loneliness when you only had the walls and a half-asleep and hostile dragon in the back of your mind there with you. He'd caught himself looking forward to the little queen's visits, and suspected that was why.

They were alike in a lot of ways. They'd only begun to discover that, and Gulcasa was pretty sure that was another reason.

But something was different about today.

He realized what it was when she simply stood beside his bed instead of sitting in the chair there. She was back in her formal clothes, and she had what he thought of as her queen face on—and her oversized sword was strapped to her back.

"What is it?" he asked simply.

Yggdra shook her head, and there was a kind of misery in her eyes.

"Something's happened," she told him just as simply. "This will sound ridiculous, I know—but something, some kind of island, has appeared a few miles off the coast. I—all of us—when we look at it, we can feel a kind of… hostility emanating from it. There's something not right about it, and I feel—something is pulling me there. The Royal Army is mobilizing now—we have to investigate it. We're leaving right away. I just felt—I should tell you; I can't leave you here with no explanation."

Gulcasa nodded, taking it in. "How will you all fit, sailing there? The Royal Army is large."

Yggdra shook her head. "Along with the island… there's a path that's come up beneath the water, shallow enough to wade. Like whoever has caused this wants it to be investigated. We're going to take that way—we have no choice; requisitioning a ship would take too long."

"It'll be dangerous, no doubt?"

Now Yggdra smiled. "I'm sure it will, but… we're used to danger now. I'd… like to tell you—no. It would be wrong to say it like that. We'll meet again soon, Emperor Gulcasa. Take care until then."

After that, she left.

Gulcasa lay very still for some time, thinking. Duty was speaking to him—calling for him insistently, more like. All that remained was to decide if he was in the condition to answer it.

There was an uncoiling at the back of his consciousness, a sharp stab of annoyance. Brongaa was in a state of near-hibernation, regaining the power he had lost from controlling Gulcasa's body for so long—he wasn't active much now. But he seemed to find his descendant's indecision irritating.

_No scion of mine acts this way. _It was a low growl, in the language of Gulcasa's blood. _If you must go, go. If you must stay, stay. It is a simple enough matter._

The pain of Brongaa's presence receded, and Gulcasa shivered—he didn't like the feeling of being intruded upon in his own mind—then stood and dressed.

There weren't many people in the halls nowadays, and they were empty at the moment. Leaving was pathetically easy; no one expected one of the patients to get up and walk out, so no one was there to hold him back. He made his way to where he knew the Royal and Imperial mounts were stabled—just the Imperial mounts now—and entered the tack room.

His armor was all here, and one wall was mirrored. His wounds ached, and he took his time buckling his armored boots and greaves, each poleyn, his gauntlets and pauldrons, his gouget and breastplate. No helmet—he remembered vaguely that it had been broken in the battle—but his cape was here, and his scythe. He fastened the former, picked up the latter, and set about finding his Bella's stall.

When he came, she rested her muzzle over the door and watched him. She stood unusually still as he fastened her armor and saddle, and only snorted and shook her head like a horse when he swung astride her back.

"Let's go," he said, and she padded outside agreeably.

He'd made it past the ruined Arc and halfway down the Imperial road through the back of Drominos when he heard the tramp of other dragons' paws and looked behind him. There were two riders tailing him—his bodyguards.

"You should go back to the camp," he told them mildly.

"We go where you go," came the cheerful reply. "And if you're following the girl, then that's even more reason for us to go with you. She'll likely be busy protecting her own life and those of her comrades; it's unfair to put yours on her, as well."

Gulcasa shook his head. "I can take care of my own just fine, thank you. And this is between me and her. I owe her a great debt, and for honor's sake that has to be repaid. When better than now, when she needs people most?"

"We owe her, too. If she hadn't saved you, where would we be? If you intend to help her, we won't stop you—we just don't want you going alone."

"Do what you want, then." Arguing would lose time. And Yggdra was already significantly ahead of him; he had to hurry if he was going to do anything for her.

And even if he didn't fully understand why, that much he knew—he had to be there to do what he could. No matter what that happened to be.

He wouldn't be left behind.

:owari:


	14. Stigmata

Precious

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

Yggdra stood very still as the battle raged around her, as orders were shouted and metal clashed again and again. She didn't move, didn't even flinch, as blood flew and splattered, as magic burst in the air around her. The Gran Centurio was vibrating madly in her hands, and it was almost all she could do to keep hold of it; she couldn't use it like this.

But more, how could she wield the sword, how could she do battle, when this was all she could hear? It filled her ears and hurt her chest, burning her eyes with tears that wanted to start.

When this had happened before, she'd heard Queen Emelone's voice, then Gulcasa's voice in her mind. There wasn't a voice this time—just the distant sound of a child crying. It had started out low, but now it was nearly a scream. She still couldn't believe that she was the only one who heard it.

Yggdra watched her troops do battle against the dead and against those strangely powerful summoned monsters. She watched Kylier yelling at them to stop, restrained by Flone from actually wading into the midst of the combatants. And she watched as Gulcasa and the fallen angel Nessiah wove their deadly dance across the steps of Nessiah's temple.

It _was _a dance—a stalemate. Nessiah always seemed to melt through the air just past wherever Gulcasa's scythe sliced towards him, and the killing lightning he threw always seemed to hit just short of where Gulcasa was.

"Just leave this place," Nessiah shouted at Gulcasa over the sizzle and snap of electricity building behind him. "You shouldn't be involved in this!"

"Like _hell _I'm going anywhere until you give me some damn explanation for what you pulled on us at Machina," Gulcasa snapped back, his eyes blazing. "You were one of us—why use us like that?!"

"Stand down! This isn't your battle—go back to your people, to your castle! They need you, and I won't have my justice obstructed by you! I've waited far too long for this! Just go home!"

"Don't you lecture me about _need, _and this has been my battle ever since you turned your back on us! I can't forgive this!"

They continued to go back and forth in that vein as they traded blows that never connected. Yggdra looked on, tightly gripping her sword and wondering why this seemed so much like a lucid dream.

Nessiah, who'd raged so violently against the heavens and mercilessly violated the souls of the dead Royal soldiers, plainly did not want to hurt Gulcasa—or to fight him at all. And Gulcasa… Yggdra didn't think she'd ever seen him this emotional, whether in battle or during the times they'd spoken. She couldn't help but remember how deeply he'd grieved when his soldiers had told him Nessiah had died, though it seemed so long ago to her. She could only imagine how betrayed Gulcasa must feel.

This was too much for her to absorb all at once. There was so much she still had to think about—that Nessiah had made the Holy Sword, all the implications of that fact, how many times she and Gulcasa had been manipulated by this man over the course of the war, why Nessiah was so bent on seeing the heavens purged—that all she could do was set it aside, and think of the immediate situation.

Her men were fighting for their lives, Gulcasa was fighting his own heart, Kylier was against there being any battle… and she was immobilized by the sound of Nessiah in pain.

In pain, anguished and torn, believing only in what he was doing but incapable of striking Gulcasa down to get there. In pain, and despite his long years and his hatred for the world, that pain was unbearably vivid and human.

His hatred for the world. A hatred that had led to this tragic, tragic cycle that had brought Yggdra and her army, her new family, back here where it had all begun. This cycle that Yggdra had sworn she was going to break.

This cycle of hatred and pain and death and misunderstanding.

Misunderstanding.

Yggdra's heart clenched, and she squared her shoulders. She had to put a stop to this, _now, _before it ended badly.

But even as she made her way carefully through the combatants towards the Great Temple, Milanor finished off the enemy he was fighting and made for Gulcasa and Nessiah's tight dance in a headlong sprint. There was nothing but mad fury in his eyes.

Gulcasa didn't see him. And Nessiah didn't notice him, either. At least not until it was too late.

There was a flash of silver and a cry of pain that all but stopped Yggdra's heart, and then Milanor was skidding to a halt and Nessiah was falling in a tumble of tattered robes and chains and blood, hitting one of the pillars hard and lying still.

Everyone froze.

The golems and skeletons so many members of the Royal Army had been fighting fell apart, and the controlled souls' eyes went blank as they vanished into the air.

The only sound was the pained sob of Nessiah's breath from where he lay, and the fall of Milanor's boots as he stalked towards the injured sorcerer.

"This," the thief said through gritted teeth as he readied his blade, "is for what you tried to do to Kylier…!"

Yggdra forced herself past paralysis and began to walk forward, then run. Her throat was too dry for speech, and she didn't think she'd make it in time, but she had to _try—_

_"Stop!"_

And Kylier was there, blocking Milanor's path with her arms outstretched and a terrified kind of defiance on her face.

Milanor stopped.

"What—Kylier, what the hell are you doing? Get outta the way!"

"No way! What do you think you're going to do with that? I won't let you hurt him anymore! Just _look _at him! You've done enough!"

Milanor looked both confused and angry. "But—I can't just let him off, after what he did to you…! Did you forget so fast that he was gonna use you to try to kill us, and that he was screwing around in your head?!"

"No—that's _why _I'm standing here, you _stupid _moron!" Kylier shrieked. She still looked shaken from her previous ordeal, but there were angry spots of color in her cheeks and angrier tears in her eyes. "The things I _saw—_are you gonna do the same to him? Are you gonna stand there, and pretend that what he did to _me _justifies this, when _so much bad _has happened to him already? Milanor, what the _hell _is going through your thick head?! That would make you _worse, _don't you get it?! That would make you _worse _than him or anyone else you've ever thought was bad! I won't _let _you hurt him!"

Milanor just stared at her and didn't say anything.

In the abyssal silence, there was a weak jangle, and everyone turned to see that Nessiah was struggling to regain his feet, shaking badly and gritting his teeth against the pain. He fell once, then again, but refused to give up and lie still, pushing himself up and finally gripping the ridged pillar behind him to get to his feet.

Even then, he trembled so from weakness that he seemed as though he might fall over at any moment, and blood continued to soak his torn robes, splattering on the stone tiles of the temple steps.

"Th-this… can't… I-I can't… n-not here… not now…" He shook his head, and his chains clanked dully. "I won't… lose… h-here… I-I won't… let it… happen… like this…"

But Nessiah was much too weak to stay standing with the amount of blood he was losing, and his legs buckled and gave out, sending him pitching towards the stairs.

Gulcasa was there in one flying leap, pulling Nessiah into his arms just in time to save him from the brutal tumble. In gentle movements, he settled the fallen angel into the crook of his arm and knelt carefully.

Still, Nessiah tried to get up, hooking his fingers around the edges of Gulcasa's armor and straining. "I-I… won't…"

"Stay put," Gulcasa said in a low growl. "If you keep pushing yourself now, you're just going to die… figure out your damn limits for once, will you?"

"Yes," Yggdra told him softly. Milanor, Kylier, and Gulcasa all looked up—none of them had noticed that she'd come this way. "Please—don't hurt yourself any further. You may be an angel, and you may have hundreds of years of hatred built up, but I'm afraid you'll never be able to defeat us, no matter how strongly you feel."

"What are you…?" Nessiah managed to get out between ragged breaths.

"It's… because we love this world," Yggdra said simply. "It's not a perfect world, we know. It's a very damaged world… and sometimes it's a very cruel and uncaring one. But it's our world, and we intend to change it for the better. Each one of us represents a part of this world that desires change, and… together, we _are _this world. It may not be a kind place, but it's our responsibility to see that it becomes one. No matter how hot your fury burns—no matter how justified your actions might be—as long as you endanger this world, our responsibility and our love will keep you from doing it."

Nessiah seemed to stare at her for a long time before his expression twisted into a bitter smile and he began to laugh.

"…Is that… so…? Feh… there's a word… for what you're telling me… and that's _'idealism'._ There's… no fault with the philosophy, but… they're called _ideals _because… they're a theoretical possibility… that will never be achieved. Perfection… peace… altruism. Pretty words… pretty theories… and good luck with… seeing any of them fulfilled."

"If we think that, then they never will be fulfilled," Yggdra said firmly. "And we must still try. All we can do is our best."

Nessiah continued to laugh until he was seized with a paroxysm of coughing that left him so weak he could only shudder and moan with pain.

"I don't intend to use this sword ever again, but…" Yggdra glanced down at the Gran Centurio, then back at Nessiah. "I'm sorry. I can't give it back to you. This world would only be drawn into your war, and it can't stand any more battle. We need time to heal, time to rebuild, time to establish true peace. If there's really any power in my blood, and in my friends… then we'll use it to make a world of love, a world with no more war."

"A world… without war…" Nessiah shook his head, and shuddered. "There was someone once… with dreams of peace… as pretty as yours, Queen Yggdra. He tried… as hard as he could… but before he could even… really begin…" He shook his head again, smiling bitterly. "See what's become of him, all of you."

"Whatever happened in the past, you don't have to suffer from it forever," Yggdra pleaded, climbing the steps to kneel before Gulcasa. "Please… come with us. Try to help us make peace now. I know you can… and the more there are who try, the sooner it will come to pass…"

"It's… too late for that," Nessiah said.

"It's never too late—"

"It… is too late…," he repeated, cutting her off. "Soon now… soon now, I'll sleep again… soon now, I'll have a respite from… the stupidity and cruelty… of this world…"

Yggdra didn't expect her eyes to fill so sharply, so suddenly. "No…"

Weakly, Nessiah reached up and brushed his fingertips over Gulcasa's face. His smile was sad now, and somehow more genuine. "At least… at least I was able to see you once more…" A sadder, almost pathetic little laugh. "You've grown up… a lot since then… Your armor finally… fits you now…"

Gulcasa bowed his head. "Nessiah…"

"I'm sorry…" Nessiah rested his cheek against Gulcasa's breastplate with a faint metallic sound. "I didn't… want you to be involved… I couldn't… fight you… didn't want you to… matter this much, but… but I want you to know…" He coughed, cleared his throat, and went on in a slightly stronger voice. "I want you to know… that the brief time I had with you… I think… I think I was finally able to discover… what 'happiness' means… I-I… I really was… happy when I was with you. Thank you."

"Nessiah…" Gulcasa shook his head. "Nessiah, you _idiot… _why didn't you ever tell us? You could have talked to us—we would have fought for you, if only we'd known! You should've told us!"

Yggdra looked on in a kind of awe. Gulcasa had gone to so much effort to stifle his tears before that she was sure he didn't realize how his voice was bent with emotion, or that he'd been crying for the past minute or so.

Nessiah rested his hand on Gulcasa's cheek again, then turned with an effort. "You… Undine girl—I have something… to tell you."

"Huh? You mean Nietzsche?" the girl yelped, pointing to herself in surprise.

"There's… a freshwater spring… nearby," Nessiah said. "There's… something that belongs to you… there. Take it. I'd meant… to give it back, but… it seems as though I won't have the chance…"

Nietzsche looked confused, but she still nodded.

There was a brief silence that was only broken by the ragged edge of Nessiah's breathing.

"Gulcasa." His voice was much softer, much weaker now.

"Yes?"

"I want you to… do me one last thing."

"Anything."

"Give me… a clean end… and when it's over… take me back inside the temple. You'll know where, it's… hard to miss…"

Gulcasa paled visibly. "What are you—_no. _I can't do that, Nessiah…"

"Gulcasa, please."

He shook his head violently. "You can't put this on me. I can't do this. Nessa…"

"Gulcasa, please." Nessiah lay still for a while. "This could… take hours… I'm in pain, and I can feel myself… getting closer and closer… I hate that feeling… so, please. I just want… this to be over… I'm so tired… I need to… sleep…"

Gulcasa leaned down and rested his forehead to Nessiah's, closing his eyes. "Do you really want this?" he asked hoarsely.

"Please," Nessiah repeated.

"…" Gulcasa straightened up, and he looked broken, as though too great a weight had been laid upon his shoulders. "…Alright."

He'd laid his scythe down in order to better cradle Nessiah; now he reached back to lift it again, carefully positioning the tip of the blade over his friend's chest. He hesitated, shuddering slightly, until Nessiah reached up to place one pale hand over the back of his gauntlet, tugging weakly but insistently.

Wearing a look that clearly said he'd hate himself for this forever, Gulcasa pushed the scythe down quickly, then drew it back. Nessiah flinched when it went in and gave a thin gasp of pain when it was pulled out, but as a new rush of blood began to rapidly soak his chest, his expression relaxed, and he whispered something that seemed like gratitude.

Gulcasa just put on his most stubborn expression and shook his head.

Yggdra had watched this exchange and known better than to intrude even when she'd thought she couldn't keep silent, but when Nessiah turned to reach out to her, she readily clutched his hand in both her own. She didn't fully understand what was happening here—without knowing why Nessiah was doing this, maybe she never would. All she understood was that despite what he'd done to them, this was Gulcasa's friend dying and it was ripping Gulcasa apart. And that just because Nessiah was dear to Gulcasa, she would have saved him if she could.

"You said… that your wish for peace… was what conquered my hatred," Nessiah said, and shuddered. "Then… you work towards this fabled world of peace…" His voice was getting fainter, and Yggdra had to lean in to hear him clearly. "We will see… we will see what kind of future… reflects upon… these blind… e-eyes…"

After that, he was silent. A few moments later, his cheek dropped to Gulcasa's breastplate, and his fingers slackened in Yggdra's hands. When she let go, his arm fell to the tile in a clatter of chains, and a cold pall crossed her soul as she understood. It was over.

Gulcasa whispered "Nessiah, you fool" and stayed where he was for another moment, then gathered Nessiah's body close to his chest and stood, turning towards the interior of the temple.

Yggdra stood up, too, grabbing a fistful of his cloak when he took his first step. He glanced back at her with empty eyes, and she shook her head. "I'll go with you," she told him. "You shouldn't do this alone…"

"…if you want." Gulcasa turned away.

Yggdra nodded, and glanced back at her silent forces. "Everyone… just wait outside. We'll decide what to do next when this is… when we're done."

She knew they'd do as she said, so she didn't wait to see. She just followed as Gulcasa stalked moodily into the temple.

The interior was empty, empty and cold but for blue-white fire snapping in torch sconces. But there were stairs where there should've been an altar, leading deep into the island. Gulcasa walked down them, and Yggdra followed him.

The stairs continued for quite a while, and something about them reminded Yggdra of the altar at Welheim where she'd been crowned. These led down instead of up, but they seemed to go on forever, too.

Finally, she and Gulcasa reached a room deep, deep within the island. It was a small chamber for a place like this, perhaps forty feet by twenty, and it was as spare as the rest of the temple, lit by the same strange cold fire.

But at the center of this room there was a bier, and upon the bier there was a glass coffin. It lay open and didn't seem to have a lid, and the white sheets within were stained with centuries' worth of blood. It was obvious that this was the place Nessiah had meant for them to leave him.

And on the wall opposite the stairs, there was a figure chained to the wall.

A statue, Yggdra thought. Some part of the temple, it had to be. Until she saw the figure's chest shifting and was forced to realize that this was a person, a living person.

Cruel gold shackles on his ankles and wrists, wide gold loops of chain wound around every part of his body, fixing him flat to the wall so that he wouldn't hang forward and crush his inner organs as though crucified. Old, rotted clothes that could've been anything from royal finery to prisoner's garb in their better days. Another gold band tight around his neck, and a blood-blotched blindfold across his face. Dried blood streaked over his cheeks like old macabre tearstains. And blood—some old, some fresh—seeped down the wall behind him to the floor beneath him, so that the spaces between the tiles of the floor here were veined with brownish red. He was rail-thin and seemed suspended in fevered sleep, held only an inch or two off the floor. Cruel bruises spread across his body, marks of a beating or beatings past. He'd been here long; his dirty-blond hair had grown out to trail along the floor.

Nessiah had mentioned something about his real body being within the island. Yggdra hadn't understood it when he'd said it. She was pretty sure she did now.

She wasn't sure how long she and Gulcasa stood there, transfixed by horror and outrage at this inhumane treatment, before they remembered why they were in this place to begin with and returned their attention with an effort to Nessiah's body. Or what they now knew was the makeshift form that protected his soul, an imitation and no more.

Gulcasa drew in one pained breath and walked forward in heavy steps, stopping at the side of the coffin to gently lay Nessiah down there. He took his time, carefully arranging the fallen angel's bloodied robes and teasing his hair into order. Even when he was done, he stood staring down at his friend's body for a long time before he leaned down to press a light kiss to Nessiah's forehead.

"Nessiah… Nessa. I won't forget this. I won't forget you. I'll never, ever forget."

When he turned back towards Yggdra, Gulcasa's eyes were glittering again. Yggdra didn't mention it, and stood still as he headed back onto the stairs, waiting for him to make his way up towards the surface before she crossed the room herself in slow steps.

This was the man who'd forged her sword, and forged her destiny along with it. He seemed to have had a lot to do with the events of the war… maybe more than she would ever know. He had wanted to change things in the heavens, to get revenge for what had been done to him and make sure nothing like it would happen again. And he'd been Gulcasa's friend, and they'd cared for each other very much.

Yggdra hadn't known him for very long, but—there'd been something about him that had pulled her, even so. He'd left so many unanswered questions, but she would do her best to patch together the answers. She hadn't been able to save him, but she wouldn't give up on trying to understand him.

So in the end, she only touched his shoulder—there was still some warmth in his skin, she realized with a start—and bowed her head to whisper, "Have some good dreams while you sleep…" before she turned and chased after Gulcasa.

:owari:


	15. Precious

Precious

Precious

See disclaimer in 01

"So… so, what are we supposed to do now?" Cruz asked.

"Good question—next question," Roswell retorted dryly.

"…I don't know if there's anything we _can _do…" Yggdra said with a sigh, rubbing her temples.

"Indeed. Our first order of business would be finding a way to send this island back towards the earth, but… obviously this is out of our power," Durant agreed. "The worst may be over, but we've been left with quite the mess to sort out."

Yggdra didn't say anything, only shivered and tried to suppress the memory of Nessiah chained to the wall. She'd tried to think of what possible crimes could merit someone being treated in that manner, and couldn't come up with a single one.

Roswell glanced around and shook his head. "Everything about this… is impossible," he said despairingly. "We've risen a great height in so short a time… we shouldn't even be able to breathe right now. I don't have any magic or logic that can deal with this."

Yggdra sighed. "Nessiah said… that we would be entering a place called Heaven's Gate soon; I suppose we would have to find some way to contact someone with the power to return us to our world there. It's all I can think of doing. I don't know how long it will take, but… maybe it will be better to rest. We've been through so much in so short a time… everyone must be exhausted."

"Yeah—I guess that makes sense," Cruz said. "Okay. It's not like we have a bunch of stuff we should be doing, anyway."

Durant nodded. "Yes. Princess… perhaps it would be a good idea to speak to some of the others, while we wait. Many of them seem to have been… upset by these events."

"Alright—I'll do that," Yggdra agreed. And sighed again. She just wanted to lie down and sleep for a few weeks, but if her friends needed her… it seemed as though her work was never going to be completely done.

--

"It's a little disturbing to think about, but… if everything Nessiah told us was true, then that means he likely has been manipulating Fantasinia and its allies into wars for quite some time," Mistel said, sitting on a shelf of coral and drawing her knees up, lacing her fingers together in front of them. "His goal was to cause the Holy Sword—the Gran Centurio—to attain enough power that it could break his chains, and we know that one way the sword gains power is through battle."

Yggdra nodded and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Given our history… I doubt that Nessiah really had to do that much manipulating, but… we know that he was involved with the Imperial Army this time around, and that he intervened on the behalf of our army at times when I could have died."

"Historically, there are varied accounts of a tactician or mage with great skill being accepted as the commander or strategist of the Royal Army during Fantasinia's direst wars," Mistel pointed out. "There were always decades or even centuries spanning between those accounts, so no one ever thought to connect them before, but knowing what we know now… That was probably Nessiah. The last time he was involved with Fantasinia was about fifty or sixty years ago… my great-grandfather served under him, and my grandfather taught me strategy using his methods. It's so strange, the way this has all circled around."

"Why was he with Bronquia this time around, then?" Cruz wanted to know. "Stands to reason he should've been on our side if he wanted to manipulate us, 'specially since the Holy Sword was almost ready…"

Russell shook his head. "Nessiah was already one of Gulcasa's generals when I was forced to enlist… but the soldiers of the Imperial Army liked to tell the story of the way they met. To me, it sounded like a troop of brigands caught Nessiah by surprise and almost killed him… Gulcasa was supposed to have found him and taken him in."

Elena nodded. "That's exactly how it happened… my parents and I were at the Capital visiting my brother in hospital at the time. Nessiah-dono—Nessiah… was in critical condition for some time. I remember because there was a lot of fuss about where he could have come from, and how and why he was bound. They said… everyone from the doctors to His Majesty tried to break his chains, but… obviously no one could…"

"From there on it's a little easier to understand, anyway," Russell said. "I spent a lot of time with the Imperial higher-ups, and I watched the way Gulcasa and Nessiah acted around each other… those two were practically joined at the hip. Whatever Nessiah did, I know you can't fake attachment like that for long. He really did consider Gulcasa to be his friend… maybe that's why he just… left instead of joining Milanor and the others at Machina."

Yggdra nodded. "That makes sense. After all… I saw for myself how badly Gulcasa took the news that Nessiah had died…" She glanced over her shoulder at where Gulcasa was standing with his dragon close to the edge of the island, watching the clouds pass.

"That's probably a bad idea, Princess," Russell told her. "He needs solitude—and he'll bite anyone who comes too near before he's ready. You should know that, after all the time you spent taking care of him."

"Y-yes… I know…" Yggdra looked back guiltily. Living among these people, she _had _come to realize that difference between men and women—when her female friends ran in pain, it was because they wanted to be chased; when the men ran, it was because they wanted to be alone. Roswell was the only real exception to that, and she'd been on the receiving end of Gulcasa's temper enough times to know that it wasn't conducive to one's health to provoke him in any way.

"Well, _I _don't see what it matters," Rosary said, disgruntled. There was an edge of cold rage and disgust to her words that had everyone staring at her—she sounded even more severe and petulant than she did when she was sniping at Roswell. "What the hell is it supposed to matter what kind of person that Nessiah was, or why he did what he did? He manipulated us. He _used _us. What we wanted or what kinds of people _we _are never mattered a damn in hell to him. We were just a bunch of fucking puppets dancing on his strings, and standing around talking about why isn't going to change that." She stood sharply and stalked away, her footfalls audible even after she'd vanished from view.

"Rosary…" Yggdra stared after her, surprised, and made as if to follow her.

Roswell set a hand on her shoulder, holding her back. When she looked at him, he shook his head. "She's upset," he told her. "Yggdra, you shouldn't go after her. She hasn't accepted it yet… I can't say I have either… but Rosary isn't… that skilled at dealing with these things. We both remembered this time, you see… Nessiah… he was the one who gave us the Ankhs. He was the one who set us against each other… though I can't say it wouldn't have gone that way eventually, anyway."

"…" Yggdra just shook her head and half-sat, half-leaned against one of the hedges of blue crystal. There had been far too many revelations today; how was she to absorb this, as well?

"Nietzsche thinks… he was probably the one that tricked everyone in Embellia, too," Nietzsche said suddenly. She'd been uncharacteristically silent up until now, looking at something she'd held and staying on the edge of the conversation. "They said… some kind of magician told them to use human blood, didn't they? And Nietzsche checked the water, like Nessiah said…" She opened her hands to show the others that she held a heavy blue jewel. "This is the Transmigragem. Nietzsche's been looking for it for so long, and now… Nietzsche's sure this means Nessiah was behind everything in Embellia. But Nessiah said… he was going to give it back. And he told Nietzsche where it was. So Nietzsche doesn't understand."

Yggdra shook her head, then suddenly realized and covered her face with both hands, stifling a helpless giggle.

"Uh, Yggdra…?"

"I'm sorry—it's just, I remembered something. When I was a girl, I was taught that the Gran Centurio had been given to my ancestor, the empress Paltina, by an angel come down from heaven. Paltineas, her son, was the one who used it as a divine mandate, and established the kingdom of Fantasinia with it. The legends go on to say that Paltina received the Holy Sword in order to defend Lombardia—and the religion of Meria—from destruction. So what if… what if part of that legend was _true…_ it was only that the details got confused?"

"I think I see what you're getting at," Russell mused, his brow furrowing and his cheeks paling. "It's possible that aspects of the story were intentionally changed, too. After all, it's a much more impressive tale if the sword that's your country's symbol was a gift from God… and it puts a lot more fear and respect in your people… than if it was given to you by a fallen angel…"

"Then the implication of all these events is that Yggdra's ancestors knew exactly what Nessiah was when they accepted the Gran Centurio from him," Mistel said, and she shook her head. "Either this makes the most important figures in this world's history more monstrous than we could possibly comprehend… or their situation was so desperate that they truly didn't care where the helping hand came from as long as it allowed them to win."

"…I knew it…" Yggdra covered her face with both hands. "It's all lies, then. Everything… everything we grew up taking for granted as true… it was all a series of horrible, selfish lies. I've been suspecting for a while… that the Holy Sword—that the Gran Centurio wasn't a miter of justice, something that bound its user to be good. I myself have done far too much that's wrong and unjust with it for that to be the case. But this… I feel so sick…"

A supportive arm came around her shoulders, and Yggdra leaned into it, not caring whose it was. A voice—Roswell's—murmured close to her, "Then why pursue this? If he's done so much to wrong you, why are you so intent on achieving some kind of understanding of Nessiah's character? Can any good really come of it?"

"I have to," Yggdra replied in a sad and tired whisper. "I have to try to understand Nessiah because—because if I don't, if I just take what I know and have done with it, then I'll have no choice but to hate him. And I don't want to hate him. I want to know if there's some kind of reason he did what he did, something I can understand, so that I can accept him or at least pity him instead… I've had more than enough of hate for a hundred lifetimes. I never want to hate anyone again."

--

It was at least another hour before the island of Ancardia reached its destination.

Yggdra spent her time waiting on her back, looking up at the scattered stars above. So far away from the lights of the world below, they were clear and bright and bountiful, a forest of pale glittering points. It seemed like it had been years since she'd looked up at a similar night sky with Milanor as summer became autumn, but it had only been a few months. How had so much happened in so short a time?

Roswell had lain at her side for a while, and she'd taken comfort in his warmth, in his familiar presence. Eventually, he'd apologized to her and said he had to check on Rosary; Yggdra let him go. Gulcasa had approached a few minutes later. His dragon had curled up on the rocks nearby, and he'd sat against her side, presumably watching the stars as Yggdra was. He hadn't said a word, so she wasn't sure if he wanted to talk to her or not. She didn't know if _she _even wanted to talk.

The others were scattered across the rest of the island—Russell and Flone with Cruz, Nietzsche and Pamela and Durant and Mistel speaking of trivialities, Milanor and Kylier arguing. Yggdra didn't have the energy to try to reassure them. Too much still weighed on her mind; she could barely manage coherent thought at all.

It took her a moment to realize what the rumbling was, and the strange sensation that followed—almost like how you still felt the motion of the tides once you'd left the water. But she recognized quickly enough that Ancardia was no longer moving upwards, and that this meant that whatever destination it had been sent for, it was there.

Yggdra sat up, and after a moment's hesitation reached for the hilt of the Gran Centurio. As much as she hated it, she might have no other choice but to make use of the sword here. She would be able to lay it aside soon, though. She had to believe that.

Biting her lip, she turned. "Gulcasa—"

But she halted when she actually set eyes on him.

He'd fallen asleep sometime over the past hour, despite the fact that he was still in full battle armor with one hand over the haft of his scythe. His expression was even, but the shadows just under his eyes were tinged with red and looked a little swollen. It was clear that he was taking all of this desperately hard.

Yggdra was plagued with guilt for it, but she knew that she had no choice but to wake him. She would need his strength if any kind of situation arose. So she laid a hand over the base of his pauldron and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. "Gulcasa. You have to wake up now; we're here."

He didn't protest, didn't try to swat her away; he only opened his eyes and gave her a world-weary stare before sitting up and giving a light tug on his dragon's tack so that she got up with him.

Slowly, Yggdra gathered her army to her.

"Everyone… we need to explore this place together, and try to find someone who can help us return to our world. We must stay together, and stay on our guard at all times. There may be danger here; we can't know for certain that our word will be trusted. But we have to get home, or else our countries will be in a state of chaos. Our people need us too much for us to just vanish here."

And so, their expedition began.

Yggdra hadn't been sure what she'd expected, but this definitely wasn't it. This place was made up of rocky, barren islands clumped together in a kind of belt or pathway through the sky; occasionally large gaps separated them, bridged by series of smaller pieces of land supported by meshes of giant chains. In the coldness of the night, it seemed unearthly and surreal, and once the Royal Army and Gulcasa had left Ancardia, it seemed out of place. It still glowed with blue light, and its coral and crystal—along with Nessiah's temple—gave it a great deal more adornment than any of the nearby terrain.

"This is… supposed to be 'heaven'…?" Yggdra murmured to herself, looking around in confusion and worry.

Suddenly, Roswell dashed to her side and gripped her shoulder, holding her back.

"Yggdra, don't go any further—I sense some kind of power building up ahead. It's magic, but it's unlike anything I've ever felt before…"

"I can feel it too," Rosary said from behind them. "Whatever it is, it's not human…"

"…?!" Yggdra squinted and leaned forward, trying to see. "I… think I saw something… is that a person over there?"

"They're comin' closer," Milanor observed. "Stay on your toes, everybody…"

There was a sudden echo from the Gran Centurio, and it began to pulse in Yggdra's hands. She looked down at it in alarm, then turned back towards the approaching figure and gasped.

"Wings…?!"

It seemed to be a young woman—Yggdra would've guessed her to be in her mid-twenties, but there was no way of really knowing. She was tall, probably around Durant's height, and impossibly beautiful, with straight gold hair that fell flowingly to her waist. Her eyes were a strange bronze color, and a pair of immense wings of the same shade rose from her shoulderblades. She was wearing a circlet sporting white porcelain wings on each side, and something slim and white supporting her breasts. A skirt—or were those wings, too?—folded around her waist, and she had on deep burgundy boots. She carried a heavy and authoritative-looking stave in one hand, and there were wide bracelets glimmering on both her wrists. Her expression was cold and suspicious.

She didn't speak, but continued to draw closer.

"Are you… an angel…?" Yggdra asked numbly, breathless.

The angel—for surely she had to be one—stared at her impassively, and then those amber eyes flicked down to the Gran Centurio and narrowed as her brow came down sharply.

"That sword…"

Yggdra retreated a step involuntarily. The angel's voice was icy, and the Gran Centurio was beginning to vibrate fiercely again.

"You humans… that bastard traitor Nessiah led you here, didn't he?!"

"Ah—please, let me try to explain—"

"For the past several hundred years, that sword has been strengthened by all the wars of humanity," the angel said coldly. "It was done for one purpose, and one purpose only—to destroy all that Asgard has accomplished, and strike down the gods! It is a threat to our peace, and you must either remove that threat or perish, human girl!"

_"No—_you have it all wrong!" Yggdra cried, desperate. "We came to this place to _stop—"_

"Silence, mortal! If you refuse to leave this place, then you must die!" The angel pointed her staff directly at Yggdra, a strange and fanatic look in her eyes.

Before Yggdra could even blink, her army closed its ranks around her.

"The rest of you—you pose no risk of harming our sacred peace; your survival is guaranteed if you stand down and return to your world," the angel said coldly.

"Not a chance," Milanor shouted. "We're not gonna let you hurt Yggdra! She's our friend!"

"And she is the hope of our world," Durant added.

"The Princess took Nietzsche and everybody in," Nietzsche declared.

"She cares for me, and I owe her my life—that's more than enough," Roswell said softly.

"Yggdra's the only leader in this world or any other worth following," Rosary declared.

"She holds the power of change, and the will to see it through," Mistel put in with a smile.

"It's because of her that my fiancée and I—and my people—have our freedom," Russell said, squeezing Flone's hand.

"She's kept our ideals alive," Cruz said simply.

"We've had a lot of fun together," Pamela cheered.

"She… accepts me," Elena offered.

"Maybe it's taken us a while to get there, but… I believe in her," Kylier said defiantly. "She understands what her country is responsible for, and she wants to fix it. We won't let you or _anybody _get in her way!"

"If you threaten this girl…" When Gulcasa spoke, it was barely a whisper, but the growl in his voice carried the words with all the thunder of a cataract. "If you threaten the only hope this world has… then you're the one that's going to suffer. Not one of us will allow any harm to come to her."

Shocked but touched, Yggdra blinked back tears. "E-everyone…"

"Just stay back, Yggdra," Milanor said, glaring at the angel. "We're not gonna let her lay a finger on you!"

"Hmph… bold sentiments, but they'll come to naught," the angel remarked derisively. "Fine, then. Since you refuse to stand down, as the guardian of Heaven's Gate I, Marietta, will pass judgment on you, and eradicate you from this earth! _Defense systems on!"_

What had to be over a hundred magical glyphs flared into life behind the angel Marietta, and over each one appeared a living creature. Some seemed human, others half-human, but most were fantastical beasts—giant dogs and wolves, immense insects, lizardlike dragons, little bat creatures that looked like demons, mounds of slime, skeletons, and giant golems.

There was a rumbling growl from them as Marietta raised her staff and began to chant in words that hurt Yggdra's ears.

"…A chaos curse…!" Roswell breathed from her side, and rushed out in front of her, raising both hands before him, beginning to cast a familiar barrier spell.

Marietta simply curled her lip and gestured in the air. A bolt of gold lightning leapt from her fingers, sweeping through Roswell's half-formed shield to strike him full in the chest.

He didn't even make a single sound—he just wavered where he stood and fell.

Yggdra screamed something—she wasn't sure what—and caught him in her arms before he hit the ground, sinking to her knees beneath his weight.

Roswell didn't respond, didn't even look at her. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, but his eyes were strangely blank and he was trembling convulsively all over. Yggdra shook him, crying his name, but he still didn't answer. A dark ribbon of blood began to spill from the corner of his eye.

Flone was there before Yggdra even had the chance to beg her for help, her hands glowing white before she set them to Roswell's chest.

"You… you _bitch! _What the hell did you _do _to him?!" Yggdra heard the shout distantly, and it took her a moment to realize that it had been Rosary's voice.

Flone shook her head, her eyes wide with horror. "What… what _is _this…?! Roswell is… all his vital organs are failing, his body is shutting down… and whatever this is, it's spreading too fast for me to fight…!"

"Please… _please, _you can't just give up!" Yggdra sobbed, not sure whether she meant to address Flone or Roswell or both of them at once. "You have to keep trying! Please!"

"Your spirit is admirable, but you're all weak," Marietta said coldly. "Resign yourselves to your fate, and die. _Libelio."_

There was a deafening crash, as though the entire sky had become a thunderhead ready to break open, and a brilliant flash of light. Yggdra hunched down over Roswell protectively, but knew it would be no use. It was all going to end here, and there was nothing she could do…

The air in front of her blurred and rippled, and the faintest shadow took shape against the light.

_"Limes Aeriales."_

The destructive light crashed into something with such force that it whipped Yggdra's hair back, and she squinted desperately, but the blow never fell. And as it dispersed, she looked up in confusion—and stared in wide-eyed disbelief.

"Jumping to conclusions and acting on them thoughtlessly, as usual… I see the state of Asgard hasn't changed one bit since I left."

_Nessiah _was standing in front of her, his left hand outstretched and his right held over the pages of his spellbook.

_"You…!" _Marietta breathed in fury as Yggdra whispered, _"How…?"_

"I felt it," Nessiah said, still facing away from her. "Even asleep, I felt it… I heard the desperation of your call, Queen Yggdra. As long as you wield the Gran Centurio, you and I are connected through an unbreakable bond. I heard you crying… it was practically a scream. You called me, so here I am."

Yggdra blinked back tears and glanced around. Flone had turned her attention back towards Roswell; Rosary had broken through the ranks and was kneeling on his other side. Everyone else was staring at Nessiah in complete bafflement and wonder.

"As for _you." _Nessiah's tone sharpened, and dripped with distaste. "I suggest you retreat, and stop bothering this girl. She's done nothing to wrong you that I can see, and I rather dislike being rudely awakened."

Yggdra could see Marietta grit her teeth, and the angel burst out with a vicious, _"Never! _Crawl back into the abyss you came out of, traitor!"

Nessiah sighed mockingly. "As you like it, then. Prepare yourself."

Yggdra hesitated, then hugged Roswell closely before turning to Rosary. "Take him…?" she whispered; Rosary nodded silently and held her arms out. Yggdra gently passed him to her, then gathered up the Gran Centurio and rose shakily to her feet, circling Flone to reach Nessiah.

"I-I don't really understand what's happening, but please—please be careful," she managed. "This person… this Marietta, she's unbelievably powerful… and all these creatures with her…"

"They're known as Cefiro," Nessiah told her. "The celestial islands that make up Heaven's Gate and many other sacred places in Asgard are protected by them. They're not human—they're Sprites, much like your friends Nietzsche and Pamela. And they're controlled by the defense systems of Asgard. They'll attack anything marked as an intruder, and you're right that it may be troublesome to fight this person if I've an army to deal with as well as my actual opponent. I suppose I'll just have to…"

His voice trailed off, and he faced away from her and from Marietta. There was a quick series of metallic-sounding snaps, and then Nessiah was shrugging out of his ragged purple overrobe, folding it over a few times and closing his spellbook. He glanced around, then headed to Kylier and held both out to her. "Hold these for me, please?"

Kylier blinked and accepted them. "Uh—yeah, sure, I guess…"

"Alright, then." And he turned and headed back towards Yggdra, but didn't slow his pace as he neared her—he actually quickened his step so that he was almost trotting by the time he reached out lightly and pulled the Gran Centurio from her hands so easily that all she could do was blink.

"Eh—wha—"

"Borrowing this, thanks!" Nessiah called back to her with a flippant wave as he ran lightly towards Marietta and her Cefiro troops.

_"Agh! _What the—you just let him _take _it?!" Milanor yelped, incensed, and shook Yggdra's shoulder furiously. "What about the whole 'we're not letting him have the sword' thing?!"

Yggdra just shook her head, blinking down at her empty hands. Even so—even _with _the Gran Centurio, what could Nessiah hope to accomplish against so many?

"…I don't know what it is you think you can do with that, but…" Marietta waved her hand again, pitching her voice to carry to the Cefiro surrounding her. "Destroy him."

They slavered and roared, and started forward.

Nessiah shifted his grip to hold the Gran Centurio with both hands, but did not slow. He hit their waves with a furious cry, and blood sprayed as he swung the heavy blade in a horizontal arc.

Yggdra looked on in utter disbelief as Nessiah danced through the Cefiro, leaving the bodies of the dying piled behind him as he somehow managed to avoid any injury at all. He looked almost laughable holding the giant sword—until you noticed that he was thrusting and slashing with it as though its massive blade weighed no more than an ordinary rapier. First he was wielding it with one hand, then the other, then both, so that even the constraints of his chains did little to hold him back from dealing incredible destruction to his enemies.

In fact—in fact, he seemed to be even more adept at wielding the Holy Sword than Yggdra was. Even now, she had to put so much of her body into simply swinging the heavy weapon, and her voluminous skirts and tight corset sometimes prevented her from being able to move fully. But Nessiah had taken off his heavy overrobe so that he wouldn't be weighted down, and with his small stature and the impossible way he ignored the Gran Centurio's awkward size, he was able to flowingly strike and dodge and spin so that he proved a difficult and deadly target.

As Yggdra watched, amazed, Nessiah lightly leaped up onto a golem's back, bringing the Gran Centurio down on its neck and head and jumping away as it fell. But another of the stone monsters reached out and swatted at him with its heavy arm; the strike connected, and Nessiah was knocked heavily to the ground, rolling to land in an awkward sprawl.

Even as far away as she was, Yggdra could see him shaking as he used the Gran Centurio to pull himself up, and it was impossible to miss his stumble as he tried to keep his feet. The remaining Cefiro surged together and began a rumbling march towards him, victory glinting in their eyes.

Nessiah shook his head with an audible jangle of chains, then shifted the Gran Centurio to his right hand. He held his left out at his side, spreading his fingers, and there was what looked like a Tactics Card beneath them.

"O tortured soul, condemned to suffering not of thine own making…"

The Gran Centurio began to pulsate, lightning crackling around it as its blade emitted blazing white light.

"Thy blood and tears will not have been spent in vain."

Nessiah sank to his knees, gripped the hilt of the Gran Centurio with both hands, and flung it hard into the air, where it spun in tight circles, end over end.

It seemed to hang suspended for lifetimes, when really it was only a few seconds before Nessiah took three flying steps forward and leaped into the air, turning a perfect flip as he grasped its hilt that landed him in the midst of the Cefiro. There was a sharp clash and a burst of light, and Nessiah sprinted out the other side of the mass of angry creatures, sliding to a halt on the cold stone and sinking almost to his knees.

Then there was a great cry, and blood fountained forth from Marietta's summoned defenders. Nessiah didn't turn to look at them as it splattered across the stone, or as slivers of light became a spray of mixed black and white feathers that drifted lazily down to cover the corpses. As the last of them fell, he straightened up, standing proud and tall.

"I am the hand of justice," he said quietly, and in the grave silence his voice echoed.

He turned, and walked back towards Yggdra and her army in easy steps. Yggdra couldn't help but flinch as he approached, but he held out the Gran Centurio and pressed its hilt into her hands.

When she blinked at him, confused, he smiled and laid a hand on her head, ruffling her hair. "…Well, I said 'borrow', didn't I?"

"…………" Yggdra stared down at the sword in her hands, then turned back towards Nessiah to say—what, she wasn't sure—but he'd already passed her, reclaiming his robe and spellbook from Kylier.

"This should even things up a bit, yes?" he said with a wry, nearly complacent smirk.

"Th-that was…" Yggdra shook her head. "But how did you…"

"There will be time for questions and explanations later," Nessiah said, cutting her off decisively. "I'm going to fight, but there's something all of you need to do for me."

Taken aback—again—Yggdra blinked, then nodded. "A-alright, what is it?"

"Gather your wounded and run. Get back to Ancardia—inside the Great Temple, if you can. Wait there, and as soon as I can I'll start the spells that will send you back to the human world. I can't guarantee that it will happen swiftly, of course, but…"

"What th—are you _serious?!" _Milanor demanded. "You want us all to just _run away?"_

Nessiah cocked his head and frowned, refastening the top clasp of his robe with nimble fingers. "Not that I don't admire your spirit, but… do you really know what you're going up against, boy? Asgard spares nothing in its own defense; each guardian of Heaven's Gate is an elite warrior even by angelic standards. None of you stand a chance against her; she's beyond anything you've ever faced before. My own task will be made several times more difficult if I must shield you from stray spells and the like."

"Nessiah." White-faced, Gulcasa reached out and laid a heavy hand on the fallen angel's shoulder. "You're telling us to get to safety, but _what about you?"_

"…" Nessiah hesitated, but gently pried the emperor's gauntleted fingers away. "…I'll catch up with you later. It's alright; you needn't worry. She can't do me any lasting harm… you know that."

Frustration and worry wrestled on Gulcasa's face, but he didn't say anything as Nessiah opened his spellbook and began to walk back towards the irate Marietta in slow steps.

"Um—Nessiah…" Yggdra called, twisting her hands in her skirts.

He halted and glanced back at her, questioning.

"Why—why are you doing all this…? I thought…"

"Believe me… it wasn't exactly easy to hand that sword back to you. And I would like little better than to take this battle as high as it can go. But… there's something about you that just…" He shook his head. "It's difficult to explain. At any rate, I promised you, didn't I? I want to see the world you say you're going to create. I want to see if you'll be the one who can finally do it. For now… I'll do what I can to make sure you get your chance. Now go, little queen. See your people safe."

Yggdra could think of nothing to say as he walked away.

Perhaps he was right—perhaps she would do well to start getting her men to safety. Biting her lip, she knelt down to where Flone was working steadily at Roswell.

He was still struggling, still trembling, still taking in air raggedly. Rosary had his head and shoulders in her lap, and was tightly holding his hand; she was wearing the look of one trying her hardest not to cry. Seeing the blood still running from Roswell's glassy, half-closed eyes and the corner of his mouth, Yggdra couldn't fault her.

"Listen… I'm not ordering a full retreat, not yet, but… Nessiah was right that we should at least get the wounded out of here. Can we—"

Flone shook her head vehemently. "I'm sorry, Princess, but we can't do that. If we were to move Roswell now, when he's unstable—if I were to stop working on him for even a moment at this time, we would lose him; I won't be able to keep up with the damage to his body. Roswell stays here."

"…" Yggdra bit her lip hard and squeezed her eyes shut, then stood up. "You heard her, everyone—and if Roswell stays, at least some of us have to stay here to protect him. But if anyone wishes to get to safety…"

"If Roswell stays, then we _all _stay," Mistel said firmly. "You know us better than to think we could abandon one of our own when he's like this."

Taking a deep breath, Yggdra nodded. "Alright. Alright, everyone. Thank you. But be ready for anything; we can't know what we're supposed to expect."

--

Nessiah halted a good ten yards from Marietta and held out his hands over his spellbook. _She's top caliber, that's for certain—so there's no point in holding back even the slightest bit. We'll have to take this at full strength from the beginning…_

Easily, he slipped into the half-trance of summoning, feeling the deep connection with his second self take hold. The self-contract with his anima hadn't been easy to establish, and the Chains of Conviction always seemed to get a little heavier when he used their magic, but—what choice did he have? With Gulcasa behind him, and that girl, and all the others there _depending _on him…

"Unable to live, unable to die…"

Recently lost souls gathered to him, clamoring for the touch of his magic. Here in the thinness of the half-heavenly, half-mortal borderline of Heaven's Gate, they were easier than ever to reach.

"…Thy punishment is to repeat life eternally…"

The souls took shape as shadows, but with his magic behind them they would still be dangerous enough. Nessiah held up his hands to complete the spell, but jerked back as he saw that Marietta was rushing towards him low to the ground, her wings spread wide and flat.

"Flans Paries Aeria—"

That was as far as he got before she pulled up sharply and raised her staff with a cry, sending bold gold deathbolts raining down on him. Instinctively, Nessiah shrank back, shielding his face with his arms; the half-formed bubble of air strained and burst all around him, banishing the souls he'd called back towards death, but the protection lasted just long enough to dispel the strikes that aimed for him.

Knowing he would have no time to recover, Nessiah was up and running the moment his barrier broke. "O angel deprived of light and wings, let thy misery cage mine enemy—"

Marietta held up her wrists and crossed them before her face. "A.S. Shield activated!"

And as Nessiah watched, unbelieving and furious, his spell broke around her, not doing her the least harm at all.

"Well, damn it all to—"

Light burst before him, and with it, pain.

--

Yggdra just stared, eyes wide with horror, unable even to scream. Nessiah lay gasping, straining to move, as Marietta walked coldly, casually up to him, then bent down and grasped the collar of his robes. In one jerk, she hauled him upright, and had him straining on his toes as she tightened her grip.

"Your resistance hasn't been without merit, but it's over. Bound as you are, you should've known better than to even try…"

Beside her, Yggdra saw Gulcasa's gauntleted hands bunch into fists, watched as he gritted his teeth and began to shake with—worry? Fear? Suppressed rage?

"But for the glory of our peaceful Asgard, it ends here. I'll do what should have been done eons ago, and put you out of your—"

That was as far as she got, because suddenly Gulcasa was crashing into her, sending the blade of his scythe in a wild arc that sent her sliding back, dropping Nessiah hard to sprawl against the wasted ground. He didn't follow up the attack, just stood there bristling and menacing with nothing short of sheer battle madness in his eyes.

On the ground, Nessiah moaned and pushed himself up, looking up towards Gulcasa and shaking his head. "Y-you… you _idiot, _I told you to run…! No matter what she does to me, you _know—"_

"Shut up."

Nessiah fell silent.

"How dare you, how _dare _you just stand there and _order _me to abandon you like that! I refuse to go anywhere—I refuse to let you stand alone! I refuse to let you suffer any further—I can do nothing else! I've already lost you twice, and I won't just stand there and lose you a third time!"

"Gulcasa…"

"Maybe alone, I can't defeat her—but neither can you. If we fight together, though, we can finish this. Don't waste time arguing, just take my hand and get up. You're one of mine, Nessiah. You always will be. And as long as you are, we stand together!"

So saying, he held out his hand.

Yggdra watched in a kind of awe as Nessiah reached out a little hesitantly, as Gulcasa clasped his hand firmly and helped him to his feet.

Something—she wasn't sure what it was—took hold in her heart, and before she could think twice, she was up and running towards them, clutching the hilt of the Holy Sword tightly. There were more footfalls behind hers, and she recognized Milanor's gait but didn't stop to try to discourage him.

"What—you two?!" For someone less composed than Nessiah, Yggdra would've called that a yelp; for him, she just gave allowance for his surprise and smiled.

"I'm here for her, not for you," Milanor growled, avoiding looking at Nessiah as his face flushed bright red. "So don't get used to it."

"I'm not sure if there's anything we can do, but if we can help at all…" Yggdra said breathlessly, looking from Nessiah to Gulcasa and back.

"But—" Nessiah began, but stopped when Gulcasa gently rapped armored knuckles against his forehead.

"The proper phrase for this situation is 'thank you'," Gulcasa told him with a smile.

To Yggdra's amusement, Nessiah's face flared soft pink. He shook his head slightly before saying "…then, thank you…" softly.

"Come one or come one hundred, it still makes no difference," Marietta snarled. "You will never defeat me—your threat will never reach our beloved Asgard!"

"…Maybe that would be true if you were facing someone who didn't understand what they were up against, but…" Nessiah shook his head. "Alright. If you all are determined to fight alongside me, then listen carefully. This Marietta that we're fighting is completely invulnerable to Skills and powerful impact magic, at least for the time being. And as you'll notice, she heals preternaturally quickly—Gulcasa struck her full-on and she's already got barely more than a scratch."

"Then, how are we to…?"

"Listen, I said." Nessiah shook his head. "It's going to be long, difficult, and likely very painful, but there _is _a way. Marietta's personal defense systems are controlled by mechanisms in her bracelets called the A.S. Shield and the H.P. Management System. The A.S. Shield is maintained by her level of life energy and protects her from powerful attacks; the Management System converts her life energy into healing magic to automatically repair any damage to her body. But when her life energy has been sufficiently drained, the A.S. Shield will transmute into a less powerful shield to preserve what power she has left, and she'll become vulnerable to the strongest impact attacks like the little queen's Crusade card. We just have to hold her off until then."

"Yeah, an' how do you know all this stuff?" Milanor asked suspiciously.

"Because I was the one who originally developed this technology for Asgard," was Nessiah's casual reply. "They have a lot of nerve, using it against me, but the fact that they have will be the downfall of Marietta, at least."

"It sounds like a plan," Gulcasa said with a grim smile. "Is everyone ready, then?"

Milanor snorted. "I was ready before I was _born."_

"Yes…" Yggdra bit her lip. "Everyone, be careful. Remember what she did to Roswell with only one strike… we can't allow that to happen to us."

They turned towards Marietta, who was spinning her staff and gathering power to it as she did so with a wild look in her eyes.

"Your hubris has taken you this far, but no further! Disappear from this earth, mortal fools!"

"Wait for it," Nessiah said softly. "If you run now she'll still hit you… wait until she prepares to strike to dodge it…"

"I don't need you lecturin' me," Milanor hissed back, but he tensed just as Yggdra and Gulcasa did, sinking down into a wary stance with Silver Moon bristling.

And as Marietta raised her staff and the four of them would have scattered, there was a sound like a mountain's being rent in two and a white-red glyph exploded on the bare ground between the angel and her intended victims.

Yggdra sank down to run, but stopped when she saw that Marietta was flinching back as well, her face contorted with shock and frustration. And realized that there was another form with broad wings at the glyph's center.

"I will not _tolerate _any interruptions now!" Marietta shouted, and flung lightning at the newcomer the way she had at Roswell.

But this person—this angel, or whoever they were—just held up a hand, and Marietta's magic died before it got within three feet of them.

Marietta's brow came down, and her cheeks went bright red. "How _dare—"_ she began, then stopped as the light of the glyph died and the new arrival blurred and reappeared right before her, a hand at her throat.

_"Silence!" _a woman's voice snapped furiously. "Cease all hostilities this _instant _or face sundering yourself for threatening a member of the Stratum of Goth!"

Marietta's eyes were huge, and her face dead white with shock. She dropped her staff, letting it clatter on the ground, and knelt, bowing her head and placing her palms flat on the stone before her.

"M-my lady! I apologize—I didn't realize, never thought that you would come yourself—I am grateful, of course, for your assistance; now that you are here, this will be finished in a matter of—"

"Be _quiet, _I said," the woman snapped. Marietta flinched.

"Y-yes, Lady Celina!"

_"…Celina…?" _Nessiah breathed from beside Yggdra, disjointed astonishment and disbelief plain in his voice.

The woman turned, letting Yggdra get her first good look at her.

She was considerably shorter than Marietta, but her wings were at least the size of the other angel's, and faded from white to warm tones of peach, with oversized pinion feathers that shimmered translucent and cast off glitters of light whenever they moved. Her hair was cropped very short in back, but was left long around her face, and was a deep, rich auburn in color; her eyes were as scarlet as Gulcasa's hair. Her features were unremarkable—no major blemishes or flaws, but no astounding beauty either—but the no-nonsense look in those eyes and the power she'd so casually thrown demanded respect. She wore a robe similar to Nessiah's but for the fact that it used complicated patterns of gold thread as ties instead of clasps, and that its fabric was doubled around her throat to create a high collar; its hood was cast down. Beneath it, she had cream-colored breeches and shirt beneath a long russet-red tunic and gold sandals like Nessiah's; there was a well-used-looking sword belted at her hip.

And her fierce expression softened into a smile as she set eyes on Yggdra's ragged party.

"Thank the gods I made it here in time. Ness…"

Beside Yggdra, Nessiah made a sound like a breathless strangled sob, and pitched forward into a headlong sprint towards her. The angel—Celina, he and Marietta had called her—just opened her arms and wrapped them close around him when he all but tackled her.

"Ah, _gods, _it's good to see you," she said softly, hugging him fiercely before holding him back at arm's length. "Let me look at you. You're not hurt anywhere, are you?"

Nessiah just shook his head.

"Not tapped out yet, either?" she demanded.

Nessiah shook his head again, then leaned it to her shoulder with a muted sob.

"Aw." Celina leaned down and kissed his forehead the way a mother or an older sister might. "You go on ahead, Ness. Gods know you've had it harder than most, all these years. I'm just glad you're okay—if only for Marietta's sake; I don't know if I'd've been able to hold back the urge to torch her extra crispy if she'd done you serious harm." And she half-giggled, then sighed and looked at Yggdra over Nessiah's shoulder. "What about you three? You're not injured either, I hope?"

Yggdra blinked, then shook her head. "N-no…"

"Hear that, Marietta? Guess you aren't in much trouble after all," Celina drawled, half-closing her eyes and giving the kneeling angel an unamused stare.

"B-but… um, my lady, uh… one of our own was badly hurt when we first confronted Ms. Marietta, and…" Yggdra continued timidly, falling silent when Celina's eyes sharpened and all her mirth and that air of ease vanished.

Whirling, she glared furiously at Marietta, who flinched. "You blistering _idiot!" _she squalled, then released Nessiah and strode briskly over to where Yggdra waited, trailing him at the end of her arm. "Where is the person who was hurt? We have to treat him or her now, or it might be too late."

Badly confused, Yggdra led Celina back to the clustered knot of her men, who'd formed a circle around where Roswell lay. They parted to let her through, and Yggdra's heart shot into her throat when she saw that her friend was almost completely limp in the protective circle of Rosary's arms, and that he'd gone as pale as Nessiah. He was still breathing, but his intake of air was uneven, and it rasped and rattled in his chest with each weak inhale and exhale. Flone was still bent over him, her face grim and shining with sweat, one hand on his shoulder and her other low on his chest, pressing down every few seconds or so in a steady rhythm.

"…" Celina knelt on Roswell's other side, feeling his forehead and the side of his throat, then peeling back his eyelids. Leaning a little closer, Yggdra saw that Roswell's eyes were impossibly dilated, so much so that his irises were barely a thin blue ring around the deep black of the pupils. Shaking her head, Celina gently stroked Roswell's hair back. "You poor baby," she murmured. "She hit you with a force-bolt, didn't she, and you stood there and took its full strength for your friends…" The angel shook her head again and continued to speak, louder now as she addressed the entire Royal Army. "It's a miracle he's still alive right now. Most of his vital organs have shut down, and now his heart's failing. There isn't much time left." She reached into the folds of her robe and produced a tall bottle of blue crystal, uncapping it. "This potion is the most powerful curative there is in this world or any other; just one sip can heal anything, even fatal wounds. Even if he were conscious, there's no way he could swallow it on his own. Someone needs to force him to—someone he trusts."

"I'll do it," Rosary said, straightening up and briskly scrubbing tears away with the heel of her hand. Celina relinquished the bottle, and Rosary took a brisk pull from it before carefully leaning down and sealing her lips to Roswell's. Yggdra watched, terrified, as she laid her hand along his throat and stroked with her thumb and first two fingers until the curve of Roswell's larynx moved.

Sitting up, Rosary pressed the back of her hand to her lips and stared down at Roswell with eyes that glittered furiously.

In the space of a few agonizing seconds, Roswell's breathing began to even out, and quieted considerably. Celina watched him for a moment, then laid her hand over Flone's.

"That's enough. You don't need to keep up the cardiac massage anymore; he's out of immediate danger, and his recovery from here is in his own hands."

Flone nodded and removed her hands, swaying when she sat up. Russell, who'd been standing behind her, put his hands on her shoulders to steady her with a concerned murmur.

Celina took her potion back from Rosary and stowed it away, now drawing a smaller, fire-colored flask from her robe's folds and offering it to Flone. "Here—you look like you need it," she said simply.

"What is it?" Russell asked as Flone wearily reached out and took it.

"A shot of brandy," Celina replied matter-of-factly.

"Are you really sure she should…?" Russell began, sounding concerned, but Flone just uncorked the flask and knocked it back.

The Royal Army stared as she handed it back empty and Celina put it away. Yggdra couldn't help but wonder a little uneasily why someone with the kind of power and authority Celina seemed to have would be carrying something like _that, _but she didn't see how she could ask politely.

"It's the gods' own luck you have, Marietta," Celina said coldly as she stood. "What were you _thinking, _throwing magic strong enough to kill most demons at a _human? _He could suffer from fragile health for years, even _decades _because of this; I doubt his heart will ever be able to take much serious strain again. If he'd died… if _any _of these people had died… you can bet I would be doing one hell of a lot more than court-martialing your ass. Don't you know who these people _are?"_

Yggdra looked over to Marietta to see that the angel had stiffened, and was looking up at Celina with an incredulous, betrayed expression. "I only thought to protect Asgard from the likes of—"

Celina sighed and waved a hand at her. "Shut up. You're ignorant and you're an idiot, but you did mean well and that along with the fact that this poor young man will live are the only two reasons why you're not going to be sundered yourself."

Marietta bristled, but was silent.

"Now." Celina planted her hands on her hips and nodded to Yggdra. "I apologize, but there were no time for introductions before. My name is Celina, and I'm one of the Seven Magi. In our Asgard that you humans refer to as Heaven, angels are part of strict circles of rank and nobility. The Stratum of Goth is made up of nobles of the highest blood, as well as the angelic courts of the gods. The Magi are the highest-ranking court of them all; we are the speakers for the gods, and we'd be their proxies if anything happened to preoccupy or seriously harm them. As for all of you, I know well enough who you are. The gods, as well as certain angels such as myself, have been watching you for some time."

"You… have?" Yggdra blinked at her uncertainly.

"Yep." Celina gave her a small smile that carried equal reassurance and smugness. "Now—I've messages for you and for His Majesty, here."

Gulcasa stared at her. "Us?"

"Uh-huh. Like I said, we've been watching you, and it's a difficult road you've chosen. Gulcasa, twenty-seventh Emperor of Bronquia… you've done everything you can to protect your people, from great acts to purely foolhardy ones. And from the beginning you've been prepared for their consequences, but I doubt you could have foreseen this. Brongaa may be in a recumbent state now, but I assure you that it will not last for very long. He will drain your energy to sustain himself and gather power, and he'll keep fighting you for your body. And I doubt I need to tell you this, but being Brongaa, he'll do unspeakable things to your human companions if he ever does get control. Despite the fact that you're his blood, as a child of dragons and as his receptacle he's going to use you and use you until there's nothing left of you. For your own sake if nothing else, you can't let him."

Gulcasa paled at her words, but nodded. "…I understand."

"Oh, and…" Celina smiled and cinched her arm around Nessiah's shoulders again. "Keep taking good care of Ness for me, alright? He's like a baby brother to me, and I hate to see him lonely."

"You don't even have to ask," was Gulcasa's easy reply. "If you've been watching us, you should know what he means to my country, and to me personally. As long as I'm alive, you don't have to worry about him."

Nessiah went red. "Gulcasa…"

"Thank you." Celina shook her head, then let Nessiah go and turned to Yggdra, her expression growing serious again. "Yggdra Yuril Artwaltz, thirty-second sovereign of Fantasinia…"

Yggdra's mouth went dry. "Yes…?"

"The gods have a message for you, too. While you have done no wrong to Asgard or to the angels, Marietta _is _right that the Gran Centurio poses a serious threat to not just our peace, but the peace of this entire world. You've seen what it can do firsthand—human forces can't possibly stand against it, and by now it's attained enough power to be able to slay angels. Very soon now, if it's continued to be used for combative purposes, it will be strong enough to kill a god. This isn't what the Gran Centurio was forged for; I know that, and Nessiah knows it too. It's been used for bloodshed so much and gained such a reputation for it that even if _you _decided to use it only for its intended purpose, its next holder would surely keep wielding it as a weapon. This can't go on; this world can't take any more. You've begun to dream of a world of peace, but no such world can exist while Fantasinia holds this kind of brute, absolute force over the heads of other nations to coerce them to submit. Those methods breed fear and resentment, and other countries may do what Bronquia has done and decide that absolute power or no, they can bow their heads to you no longer.

"Hear the words of Odin, lord and master of Asgard: Draw thy blade for eternal sin, else lay thine edge to rest. You are human, Queen Yggdra; you, like all other living beings, possess free will. Now that you've heard what the gods have to say, make your own choice of what to do about it."

Yggdra stared wide-eyed at Celina, then glanced at Marietta, then down at the Gran Centurio.

She looked at Nessiah for some cue, some indication of his opinion, but a pained expression crossed his face and he slowly shook his head.

"The Gran Centurio is part of my heart, part of my soul, and it's always been and will always be mine, but… it's because of me that it's become so corrupted. I… I no longer have the right to decide its fate. The choice is yours, little queen; don't let me or anyone else influence you."

Yggdra's heart hurt to hear his words, but she knew he was right. So she looked down at the Gran Centurio again, and thought about it.

Finally, she drew a long, slow breath. "Draw thy blade for eternal sin… or lay thine edge to rest… Then…" She bowed her head. "I think we all know what this means, don't we? If I were to declare that the gods were wrong and that the Gran Centurio was the right of the Artwaltz family, I would condemn myself and everyone who stands with me out of loyalty. Even if I were just to keep it and take it back to the human world… Lady Celina is right; no good would ever come of it. For as long as this sword remains in human hands, it will continue to be drenched in blood…

"So, for that reason… to prevent such tragedies from continuing…" Yggdra took another deep breath and closed her eyes. "I hereby… by my authority as Queen of Fantasinia… and on behalf of all humanity… I relinquish my ownership of the Gran Centurio."

"Yggdra…!" Milanor sounded awed.

"This sword," Yggdra continued, "will never again be used by human hands. Its power is too great for us, and too great for any. If it's possible… I would like for it to be sealed somewhere here, in Heaven's Gate, where no one will be able to reach it. Never again will Fantasinia rule by force. Instead, we will rule with empathy… with kindness and understanding, and the wisdom granted to us by the gods."

Celina reached out silently, and Yggdra held out the Gran Centurio.

"The gods hear your oath, human sovereign," she said gravely, "and they honor it. The powers of the Gran Centurio are hereby sealed for eternity. This sword will never be used again."

A strange sensation, similar to the pins-and-needles discomfort of blood deprivation, shot up Yggdra's arms to her elbows, and she drew her arms back. As soon as her fingers left the hilt of the sword, the feeling stopped.

There was a low moan behind her, then a heavy thump and a discordant jangle. Yggdra jumped and turned to see that Nessiah had collapsed along the barren ground.

Gulcasa was there even before Yggdra could take her first step, gently turning Nessiah to his back and shaking him. "Nessiah—Nessa?! Are you alright? What happened?" He turned to look at Celina warily. "You couldn't have done… did he just faint?"

There was another low moan from Nessiah, and he laid one shaking hand to his forehead. "I'm—fine… it just… this—hurts me…" His voice was weak, and trembling worse than his hands.

"He said himself that the Gran Centurio was part of him," Celina said, setting the sword down. "This couldn't really be avoided. Ness, I'm sorry."

He fluttered a hand in her direction and sighed as Gulcasa drew him into a sitting position, leaning against the emperor's breastplate.

"Well, if that's the case…" Celina shrugged and smiled. "That can't have been an easy thing to do… in a way, the Gran Centurio was a part of you, too, Queen Yggdra. You've relied on it, and it's seen you through many trials. But you did the right thing, and the gods honor you for it." She held out a hand, and there was a shimmer, then a short and ornate staff—perhaps two and a half feet long—appeared in her palm. "Take this scepter as our gift, as something to replace the sword. I think it's much more suited to you, and I hope that it will become Fantasinia's symbol in the Gran Centurio's place."

Milanor whistled. "Man… I mean…" He turned and planted his hands on his hips proudly, beaming at the rest of the Royal Army. "Will you look at that? I guess we really _can't _call Yggdra a princess anymore… she really is a real queen now! Only the greatest leaders're able to pick what's best for the whole world like that."

There were nods, and smiles, and then a ragged cheer through the ranks.

Yggdra reached out and took the scepter from Celina, smiling and blinking back tears. "Thank you, everyone," she said softly, a little overwhelmed.

"You're a good girl, and you're going to make an excellent queen," Celina said with a smile. "Alright… all of you, now… thank you for bearing with us; once you've returned to Ancardia, we'll send it back down to the surface for you. It's time for you to start changing the world… go with the blessings of the gods."

There were more cheers of Yggdra's name, and she waved her hands flusteredly, hiding her face in them but unable to conceal her blush.

"But… but all I did was what was best for all of you! That's my responsibility… not just as a queen, but as someone who cares for you!"

There was a shove at her shoulder, and Yggdra looked up to see that Gulcasa was giving her a crooked smile and a pointed stare from where he stood half-supporting Nessiah.

"Don't you get it yet?" he said mildly. "That's exactly why you mean so much to them—and to the two of us, too. That's why we're able to believe in you."

"It's no small thing, being cared for…" Nessiah added, his voice still soft but gaining strength with every word. "I'll be alright. We'll _all _be alright. As long as you're here… as long as you're still trying to fulfill those lofty ideals of yours, no matter how hopeless it seems. You're precious to them—" he gestured to the Royal Army "—to us—" and he glanced up to Gulcasa as if to confirm it before leaning against his friend as if to hide his face and adding in a near whisper, "…to _me."_

Yggdra stood silent as grateful tears gathered in her eyes. She couldn't think of what she should say to that; she didn't know if there was anything _to _say. All she could do was bow her head and clasp her hands.

"Thank you all… so very, very much…"

:owari:


End file.
